My heart floats in the hollow between beats,
a weightless thing, neither here nor gone,
left in the purgatory of almosts and maybes.

Time drips slow, like sap from a wounded tree,
every second stretched thin,
every breath a whisper of what could be.

Hope dangles, fragile and frayed,
a spider’s thread trembling in the wind,
unsure if it will hold or snap
under the weight of a longing unspoken.

I do not bleed, I do not weep—
I simply linger,
caught in this timeless pause,
my heart in suspended animation,
waiting for the whisper of her touch,
the warmth of her voice,
to pull me back to life.