Sitting With You In The Ache

The afternoon sun is unforgiving. It exposes the dust on the shelf where you left an old conversation, a thread of words that still sounds like love.

You read them and recognize the voice that knew you best, the one that saw every corner of your soul. But then you look up from the screen, and the silence in the room tells you the truth: you are a stranger to that person now.

The distance is not miles; it is a quiet erosion of knowing. You are walking through the middle of the day, carrying the weight of a ghost who used to be real.

The light does not ask you to force the connection back together. It simply sits with you in the ache of being unknown.

You are not defined by the silence between you, but by the love that remains visible in the words you cannot delete.