I carried the evening lightly,
as though it might slip through my hands,
the way your voice once did
when you paused mid‑sentence,
letting the unfinished thought
settle between us
like dust in a quiet room.

Even now,
the pause you left behind
returns without warning –
finding its place
in the rooms I still haven’t filled.

Some memories don’t speak;
they hover,
waiting for the right silence
to become visible.

And sometimes,
I think the part you never said
is the one that stayed with me –
a small, persistent light
that flickers
at the edge of every quiet evening.