to reach through drawers
of empty closets
inside homes that no longer exist
except in memory
except in the quiet corners of ourselves
where old lives continue breathing softly
the webs interlocked in memory
dust resting atop sheets once untouched
white satin folded into stillness
and the feeling of your hands
against that softness
like warmth trying desperately
to survive the cold of passing time
we flip the pillow over
searching for comfort
inside misery
because sometimes relief arrives
in the smallest forms
a colder surface
a softer breath
a momentary escape from ourselves
the warmth becomes too much
and we turn through sleepless beds
replaying old conversations
the ones that slowly led us here
to this version of ourselves
to these rooms
to these silences
the fiddle fig bends by the window
its leaves curling inward
dying slowly without announcement
and somehow
that feels familiar too
cars remain running outside
engines humming softly
yet no one moves anywhere
motion without direction
movement without change
and i stay inside this piece
this is what i call it
not a memory
not grief
but a piece
words on paper
yet somehow they run my mind completely
i feel them here
i feel them everywhere
in the cloth against my arms
the way my body sinks into this couch
like exhaustion becoming furniture
we flicker in and out of ourselves
everything becoming fragile
even the simplest things
drinking from a straw
holding a cup too tightly
trying to soften what life sharpens
but this ache does not soften
it stays sharp
with edges capable of cracking
through every distraction we build
time is morbid in that way
it gives us moments
only to watch them disappear
it lets us hold warmth briefly
before teaching our hands
what absence feels like
and often
people do not realize this
until they see themselves reflected
in mirrors of memory
moments where truth slips out of us
without permission
the cracks never point one direction
they branch infinitely
every waking moment becomes a choice
a path
a version of yourself waiting to happen
and i choose the softer side
when you turn at night
trying to separate yourself from warmth
trying to cool the ache in your body
remember how your skin feels
before you search for comfort elsewhere
remember yourself first
we make movement beyond history
painting color over walls
that once turned gray with silence
the pillows cold against our faces
sometimes damp with restless nights
sometimes carrying the weight
of everything we never said aloud
but when you flip them over
there is coolness again
another chance
another beginning disguised as something small
and maybe life is exactly that
small mercies repeated quietly
until they become survival
i hope time finds you gently
i hope it reaches your doorstep softly
without tearing through you first
i hope time finds you
and you decide
to love it kindly
instead of fearing what it takes away
because healing is rarely loud
sometimes it is simply
two steps forward
and the realization
you no longer need
to look back at all
Leave a Reply