I never minded the quiet.
The way the walls never asked for anything,
the way the night didn’t need me to speak.
I could sit with my own silence,
breathe in the stillness,
and call it enough.

Then you showed up.
Not loud, not demanding--just there.
And suddenly, the silence wasn’t peaceful,
it was just empty.

I started waiting for your voice
before I even knew I was listening.
I started looking for you in rooms
I knew you wouldn’t be in.

And now, without you,
the quiet feels heavier.
Like it knows what it's missing.
Like it’s waiting, too.

In the quiet hours before dawn,
a weight settles, uninvited, unnamed.
Days drift in slow-motion gray,
each breath heavy, each step rehearsed.

I learned to dance with shadows,
To find rhythm in the void.
Smiles painted on a weary canvas, Laughter echoing in empty halls.

Then you arrived—
a burst of color in my grayscale world,
a melody I never searched for
but somehow needed.
A spark in my endless night.

And now, you're gone.
The weight I once carried so easily
has doubled, pressed into my ribs.
Have the shadows always been this dark?
Has the silence always been this deafening?

I thought I knew sorrow,
thought I had mapped its edges,
But this grief is sharper, louder.
A pain with a familiar name.

So I sit with this ache—
learning to breathe,
learning to carry this weight,
learning to cope
without you.

The chair where you sat is still warm,
but the room has forgotten your voice.
The echoes have softened into dust,
settling in corners I cannot reach.

The morning does not knock the same way.
Its light does not ask for permission,
only spills itself across the floor,
searching for you.

Your name lingers in my throat,
a letter left unsent.
I fold it, once, twice—
but where could it go?

The streets carry on, unburdened.
Even the train you took does not look back.
Only I remain,
watching the last light fade,
pretending it might return.

Tulips
Common, trusted, beloved.
Planted in gardens, gifted in joy,
Welcomed without a second thought.

And then—me.
Fragile, fleeting, misplaced.
Sought only in sorrow, left to wither,
A beauty seen too late,
A name too easily forgotten.

Lycoris Radiata.

I do not exist when I’m alone.
Not in any way that matters.
I move, I breathe, I think,
But it feels weightless, distant,
Like a story left open in an empty room,
Pages turning for no one.

Nothing is real until someone is there.
Until a glance, a word, a touch
Pulls me from the quiet.
Like I am only a reflection,
Flickering into being when seen,
Vanishing when the mirror stands empty.

Do I exist when no one is looking?
Or do I fade into the spaces between moments?
Drifting somewhere between thought and absence,
A pause too long, a whisper among the breeze,
A shadow with nothing to cast it.

And when I step back into the world,
I pull myself together with careful hands,
Wearing the shape they expect to see,
Smiling, speaking,
As if I had been whole all along.

Maybe that’s why I hold onto every word,
Every glance, every touch.
Because in those fleeting seconds,
I am seen.
I am something.
I exist.