The phone call came, a sharp, metallic sound, Not words, but static where the air was drowned. They spoke your name, then etched a single line, A cruel, cold phrase that severed me from time. It wasn't you who fell; it was my world— Into a sudden, empty space it swirled. The news, a poison arrow in my chest, Stopped every frantic breath inside my rest. That you had sought the dark, the final door, Killed all the light I thought was mine before. I felt the shatter deep inside my frame, A silent scream, a ghost upon your name. I look at rooms, and see them through a haze; I speak to people, lost in endless mazes. The music's off-key, colors have all drained, For since that day, a piece of me's detained. I walk these hours, a stranger to myself, My heart, a fragile antique on a shelf. It didn't take your life—it took my own peace, And left a scar that never finds release. I'm not the same; I never will be now. The memory is a chain upon my brow. I live with the 'Why?', a whisper and a roar, A different person standing at life's door.