There is an eerie silence in waiting—
a hollow ache where time unravels,
a chair left empty,
a breath caught between the ribs
when a shadow
or a song
reminds me of you.
We were not ready—
two trembling hands
unable to hold without breaking.
Perhaps in another life
we will be braver.
But here,
the silence screams louder than words.
The phone glows blank—
a cruel rejection without your voice.
I push it away,
as though distance could sever the pulse
that binds me still to you.
I do not miss you—
not in the way the world defines missing.
I do not yearn for love—
not in the way stories paint it sweet.
Yet somewhere,
a buried vein of me
still bleeds your name.
In the uneasy hush of maybe,
I linger here—
in the half-lit corridor
where absence hums like a haunting.
And nothing haunts me more
than the ghost
of what we could have been.
Sep 22, 2025
Sep 22, 2025 at 2:38 PM UTC
There is an eerie silence in waiting—
a hollow ache where time unravels,
a chair left empty,
a breath caught between the ribs
when a shadow
or a song
reminds me of you.
We were not ready—
two trembling hands
unable to hold without breaking.
Perhaps in another life
we will be braver.
But here,
the silence screams louder than words.
The phone glows blank—
a cruel rejection without your voice.
I push it away,
as though distance could sever the pulse
that binds me still to you.
I do not miss you—
not in the way the world defines missing.
I do not yearn for love—
not in the way stories paint it sweet.
Yet somewhere,
a buried vein of me
still bleeds your name.
In the uneasy hush of maybe,
I linger here—
in the half-lit corridor
where absence hums like a haunting.
And nothing haunts me more
than the ghost
of what we could have been.
