Broken Serenade

Broken Serenade

It was never silence that broke me—

it was the song that almost made it through.

A violin with one string missing,

still lifting its chin toward the night.

A mouth full of melody,

teeth cracked from holding grief too gently.

I learned to hum in the key of aftermath,

to sway with the pauses,

to let the ache keep time

when the rhythm forgot me.

This is how love survives:

not whole, not polished,

but brave enough to be heard

even when it stutters.

I offer what remains—

a note bent by weather,

a harmony stitched from staying—

and call it music

because it still reaches you.

— Flower InBloom