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“Forty-Three Candles Even silence aches when it’s the only thing that comes to visit. The clock gnaws each minute mother’s hands tremble like autumn leaves, father’s voice an old radio fading to static. Your family orbits other suns, siblings stitch their lives into quilts you weren’t asked to hold. The room grows teeth. Walls hum with static, while your phone stays stubborn as stone. Is this freedom? An unlocked door too heavy to push. You swallow the quiet, let it pool in your ribs a language without translation.” — Saurabh T
Forty-Three Candles
Even silence aches when it’s the only thing that comes to visit.
The clock gnaws each minute
mother’s hands tremble like autumn leaves,
father’s voice an old radio fading to static.
Your family orbits other suns,
siblings stitch their lives into quilts
you weren’t asked to hold.
The room grows teeth.
Walls hum with static,
while your phone stays stubborn as stone.
Is this freedom? An unlocked door
too heavy to push.
You swallow the quiet,
let it pool in your ribs
a language without translation.