David_Eyram

A grieving musician starts receiving mysterious audio files from his dead lover. But as the songs reveal secrets he never knew, he realizes he wasn’t the only one she left behind. A story of grief, guilt, and a final goodbye that was never finished.

Her voice in my bones

Not the kind that's too cold or too warm.

But the kind that feels like someone just left the room with your name in their mouth.

I walked into the hallway where she used to sing.

My sister's voice still haunted the tiles.

but like a memory that refused to be forgotten.

Now I hum to remember what thinking used to feel like.

They stopped asking that weeks ago.

Because I stopped pretending the answer mattered.

Inside my pocket was a page torn from my sister's old journal.

I carried it folded — not because I couldn't memorize it,

but because I wanted to feel the edge of it cut my palm when I got too calm.

> "You are not what they did to you."

Because every time I breathe without flinching,

someone reminds me that surviving is suspicious when you've been too quiet for too long.

> "You're doing better," they say.

> "Then why do I feel like I'm disappearing the more I heal?" I want to answer.

Because that would mean explaining pain to people who've only read about it in textbooks.

Like a girl who remembers what she lost too vividly to fully celebrate what she's becoming.

Until the floor stops creaking and the hallway no longer hums.

Chapter49 I didn't know silence had a temperature