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mauricioPoems
i keep thinking about the residue of voices not haunting not spectral not cinematic just the way a chair remembers weight the way a shirt holds the faint outline of sweat there are fingerprints on the glass i never cleaned they overlap like conversations cut short like someone trying to explain something and leaving halfway through i walk past the mirror and see not myself but the accumulation of gestures every shrug every tilt of the head every refusal to meet the eyes of another the silence is not silence it is layered with coughs with the scrape of forks against plates with the sound of shoes dragged across tile all of it still here compressed into the air like dust i try to breathe and it feels crowded as if the lungs are not mine alone as if each inhale carries a fragment of someone else’s unfinished sentence i do not call them ghosts because that word is too easy too rehearsed instead i call them leftovers the unclaimed fragments of presence that refuse to dissolve and when i close my eyes i do not see faces i see the shape of absence folding itself into corners waiting for me to notice
0
Dec 18, 2025
Dec 18, 2025 at 11:13 PM UTC
ghosts of all
i keep thinking about the residue of voices not haunting not spectral not cinematic just the way a chair remembers weight the way a shirt holds the faint outline of sweat there are fingerprints on the glass i never cleaned they overlap like conversations cut short like someone trying to explain something and leaving halfway through i walk past the mirror and see not myself but the accumulation of gestures every shrug every tilt of the head every refusal to meet the eyes of another the silence is not silence it is layered with coughs with the scrape of forks against plates with the sound of shoes dragged across tile all of it still here compressed into the air like dust i try to breathe and it feels crowded as if the lungs are not mine alone as if each inhale carries a fragment of someone else’s unfinished sentence i do not call them ghosts because that word is too easy too rehearsed instead i call them leftovers the unclaimed fragments of presence that refuse to dissolve and when i close my eyes i do not see faces i see the shape of absence folding itself into corners waiting for me to notice
#ghost#love#pain#loss#lost#feelings#emotion#poem#dissolve#breathing
mauricio
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mauricio
M
Dec 18, 2025
Dec 18, 2025 at 11:13 PM UTC
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