Silhouette

Grief doesn't knock. It moves in. Silhouette traps you inside a mind that refuses to let go—where memories wear the shape of rooms and every corridor leads deeper into what you've buried. Something is asking for things. Things you recognize. Things you wish you didn't. Give it the wrong piece of yourself, and time fractures. Give it nothing, and the silence becomes unbearable. You are not exploring a house. You are walking through what's left of someone—and the further you go, the less certain you are that someone isn't you. The clock doesn't care about your grief. It never did. Find what it wants. Face what you've hidden. Get out. Before what lives in the dark decides you're exactly where you belong.