What I Called Faith

I didn't stop believing. I just started believing in silence more. Not in a Savior— but in memory. Prayers so old they calcified in my throat. I built my gospel in a crater. Called the ache growth. Called the collapse holy. Because naming it loss would've broken me. I dressed my doubt in doctrine. Sang to ceilings that never sang back. They said He's close to the brokenhearted, but all I heard was my own pulse echoing. So I made absence sacred.