NurseSheGirl

July 23, 2026

I do not mean the kind of gone
where flowers gather in the rain,
or names are carved in weathered stone
to whisper softly of our pain.

I mean the quieter kind of gone,
where footsteps simply cease to fall,
where no one turns to call my name
because I wasn’t there at all.

No shadow stretching in the light.
No echo lingering in the hall.
No story waiting to be told.
No voice to answer when they call.

To slip between the cracks of time,
unwritten pages, empty air,
as though the world had always turned
without the outline of me there.

Perhaps the stars would never know.
Perhaps the dawn would still arrive.
The rivers would not lose their course.
The trees would simply stay alive.

And yet beneath that heavy thought,
a quieter truth begins to grow:
The ache to vanish is not always
an ache we never know.

Sometimes it’s only weary hearts
that long to lay their burdens down,
to rest beneath a silent sky
without the weight they carry now.

So if I fade, let it be only
into the stillness of the night,
until the morning finds my name
and calls me gently back to light.