We woke to shared breath, your hand in mine, our child’s laughter spilling like light through the house. I believed that was forever. Then they were gone, both of them. The silence roared in, emptied every room, froze toys mid-play, chilled your side of the bed. I clawed at memories, but they turned to dust. Grief carved me hollow. Breath became betrayal. The mirror showed only fragments of a woman I lost. So I let the blue rise. Pills fell soft as mercy, promising rest without them. Down here, the water holds the wreckage gently. Above, poppies push through cracked earth where our life stood red, stubborn, blooming without me. I watch from the deep, wondering if I ever knew how to rise before I broke.