The Day I Stopped Expecting Answers

I used to ask why. All the time. Every night. In whispers and in thought. Why did they leave? Why didn’t they see me? Why didn’t I speak up when it mattered most? The questions stacked like bricks in my chest. Heavy. Sharp. Unanswered. I waited for signs. For moments. For healing that never knocked. I tried to explain it to myself, to friends, to blank pages. But no reply ever felt enough. No reason ever softened the ache. Until one day, I stopped. Not because I understood. But because I got tired. Of chasing closure in places that only echoed. Now I carry the silence. Not as a burden but as proof that not everything needs to be solved to be survived. And that, somehow, became my peace.