✦Between the Lines

The next morning,
she returned before the others.
The journal was where she left it—
but something felt different.

No wind had blown it open.
No hands had turned the page.
But another indentation was there—fainter,
as if pressed in a dream.

She ran her fingers gently across it,
letting the words rise in her mind
like breath on glass.

She whispered the line aloud
as if it might summon him—
not as a ghost,
but as a revision.
An edit not yet finalized.

That night she dreamed of him.
But he was not how she remembered—
he spoke in footnotes,
walked through places that didn’t exist
in the world she knew.

She woke with ink on her palm.
No pen near.
No one else in the house.

The journal remained closed.
But now, she didn’t dare open it.
Not yet.

Because part of her believed
he was still writing—
not from the grave,
but from the margins of whatever reality
had failed to contain him.
#thought