48.The Room Where Silence Stayed

I woke beneath the weight of something unseen,

something more than pain, a quiet that pressed

harder than the breath I could barely take.

There was light, wasn't there?

But it wasn't mine, it was distant,

folded in a corner where no one stood,

where no voice called my name, no hand reached.

The machines hummed, but no one else did.

I was the pulse beneath the noise,

the breath between what wasn't broken

and what would never heal.

Wasn't someone supposed to come?

Didn't they know I was here,

beneath the sterile sky, bound to tubes

and wires that hummed but never sang?

But no one came.

Not to stand in the space where my body broke,

not to say my name,

not to bear the weight I couldn't lift.

The room stayed empty, except for the hum

of debt that stacked itself higher than the ceiling,

higher than the hope I could barely hold.

The bed held me tighter than anyone did,

pressing its cold frame against my skin

that had forgotten what warmth felt like.

My body survived, didn't it?

But survival feels like falling,

falling into something deeper than pain,

into the silence where no one reaches.

I thought I was strong enough,

but the weight kept growing,

the numbers kept climbing.

Each breath costs more than I have,

and the hands that should have helped

never came, never even knocked.

The clock ticked, though time didn't move.

The bills came, though no one stood by me

to count the weight they carried.

I stared at the paper, the numbers that curled

into shadows longer than the breath I held,

but no hands reached to share the weight.

Not a soul to stand beside me in the thick of it,

not a word to ease the quiet hum

of dollars that fell like stones I couldn't lift.

Isn't this where someone steps in?

Isn't this the moment when help arrives?

But the only steps were echoes

of nurses passing by, never pausing long enough

to see how empty the room really was.

The chair beside the bed stayed still,

untouched by any body but mine.

Do you know what it's like to wake

and see nothing but the ceiling staring back?

To wonder if survival is a blessing or a curse,

when you're the only one left to carry the debt

of a life barely saved?

When each dollar owed feels like a debt to the air,

to the silence that stretched around the room

and swallowed every breath I couldn't pay for?

I survived—didn't I?

But I'm drowning in a sea of numbers,

a tide that rises without mercy,

and no one, no one pulls me out.

My hands slip, grasping for something

that isn't there—someone, anyone

to help me bear the weight of survival,

but the hands that reach are only mine,

and they tremble beneath the load.

The hospital walls watched me fall,

watched me sink beneath the weight

of bills that rose higher than my breath could reach.

I keep falling, even now,

even as my feet touch the ground,

there's no hand to steady me, no arm

to lift the burden that's become too much.

I walk, but each step is heavy,

each breath costs more than I can pay.

No one came, not then, not now.

And I wonder if I'll ever stand

in a place where the light is closer,

where the silence doesn't feel so loud.

But the debt remains, doesn't it?

It shadows me like a second skin,

and I wonder if surviving was enough—

if this life is mine, or if I owe it

to the silence that never let go.

Now the debt is all I hear,

a hum beneath each breath, each sigh,

and no one comes to share the weight.

The bills stack high, the hours stretch thin,

and still, the room is empty, still the door

stays closed to every face that might have cared.

I survived, didn't I? But no one's here.