It must be hidden in the spaces between:
all the things you never said—

Secret.

I feel about for signs of life—
An ember, an impression of a feeling;
Dust drifting off a thought
Ash floating off some feverish flame shyly
wafting through the open air, so
    Unassuming. It burns anyway(regardless).

My fingers grapple for the braille
That cryptic shape of you—

To me you are an amputated limb
Twitching in the ghostly space you used to be
(I could have sworn-)