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The stillness before it wasn't. This is the fade to black — slow, deliberate, the room dimming while you're still standing in it. Nothing on the surface. Everything underneath, gathering, the way a star gathers mass before it becomes something else entirely. Worn for the quiet that isn't peace.
Not loud because it needs to be — loud because there's nothing left to contain it. This is the break: no thought past the moment, no concern for what it costs. Whatever's closest becomes part of it. Worn for the part of you that stopped asking permission.
The part that comes after, and stays the longest. Not the break itself, but standing in what's left of it — the weight arriving all at once, heavier than the anger ever was. One of one, because this stage was never something you could repeat on purpose. Worn for what's left when there's nothing left to break.