Nobody Tells You

I was nine the first time I heard them fight Not words, just sounds Like animals in the dark I pulled the covers over my head And pretended it was thunder By morning, everything was normal Pancakes, cartoons, smiles for the neighbors Nobody mentioned the broken glass in the kitchen Nobody mentioned anything I learned early That some silences are louder than screams Nobody tells you That losing someone isn't one moment It's a thousand small ones It's the empty chair at Thanksgiving It's the phone that doesn't ring on your birthday It's realizing you can't remember the sound of their voice And then hating yourself for forgetting By twelve, I stopped asking questions What's the point? I knew the answers were just better lies So I watched I watched her cry in the bathroom I watched him sleep on the couch I watched love turn into habit And habit turn into hate I sat at the dinner table Cutting my food into tiny pieces So I could stay small So I could disappear Nobody tells you That losing someone isn't one moment It's a thousand small ones It's the empty chair at Thanksgiving It's the phone that doesn't ring on your birthday It's realizing you can't remember the sound of their voice And then hating yourself for forgetting When he left, I didn't cry Not because I was strong But because I'd been practicing for years Every slammed door Every silent car ride Every "we're fine" when we weren't Was rehearsal Nobody tells you That losing someone isn't one moment It's a thousand small ones It's the empty chair at Thanksgiving It's the phone that doesn't ring on your birthday It's realizing you can't remember the sound of their voice And then hating yourself for forgetting