Lonely Saturday again.
The city hums outside in low,
amber light,
but here,
silence has learned my shape.
It lingers like smoke in a sunbeam,
curling around me,
soft and certain,
and without it—
I am unmade.
I am now,
between one exhale and the next,
where everything waits,
and nothing stays.
Shadows press against the blinds,
a single record spins somewhere downstairs,
and the air tastes faintly of yesterday—
like lipstick on a glass I once held,
like a hand I almost touched
in another lifetime.
Time slows,
then vanishes.
Everything waits,
and nothing stays.
Dec 16, 2025
Dec 16, 2025 at 7:56 AM UTC
Lonely Saturday again.
The city hums outside in low,
amber light,
but here,
silence has learned my shape.
It lingers like smoke in a sunbeam,
curling around me,
soft and certain,
and without it—
I am unmade.
I am now,
between one exhale and the next,
where everything waits,
and nothing stays.
Shadows press against the blinds,
a single record spins somewhere downstairs,
and the air tastes faintly of yesterday—
like lipstick on a glass I once held,
like a hand I almost touched
in another lifetime.
Time slows,
then vanishes.
Everything waits,
and nothing stays.