A man’s view of why she died

Bartered by Word Not Fists

A man’s view

He sits in the quiet,

hands heavy with memory,

eyes tracing the wallpaper

like it might peel back time.

He never raised a fist,

but his words had edges,

they cut through love

like wind on a frozen lake.

She stopped answering one day,

her silence spoke louder,

and guilt moved in beside him,

a shadow that would not sleep.

Now he bargains with ghosts,

he rewrites his apologies,

tries to trade regret

for something lighter.

The mirror tells him stories,

his own reflection on trial,

and he knows the hardest fight

was never won with fists.

He talks to her photograph,

a faded face that listens,

he says I never meant to hurt you,

but meaning never mends.

He lives now with silence,

the echo of what he broke,

for words can bleed a heart

long after bruises fade.