Final Debt

The crumpled envelope lies flat

on the kitchen counter—

not a victory, not relief,

just the sharp crease of something closed.

Years folded into numbers,

shoved under piles of bills and takeout boxes.

That final stamp,

a cold weight pressed between fingers.

The quiet after the noise,

a room emptied of echoes

that once filled the small space

where I learned to count my losses.

Not a light breaking,

just a ledger balanced,

and the slow sinking of breath

that doesn’t lift.