I’ve written to you many times, through notepads and phone screens.
They transcend to you in another time,
when you can understand the words I never sent.
I shouted your name, and the sky carried it with the wind.
It flows, whisking leaves, unfolding at your doorstep.
I blew bubbles into puddles you stepped through, soaking you from within.
This is how you’ll feel me.
Distant echoes in shadows, quiet murmurs in stillness.
That’s when you’ll hear me—
even without these words.
