I. The Hollow Morning I wake to a house that no longer breathes, Walls echoing the absence of your laughter, The sunlight creeps, timid and cold,
By Eva guns about a month ago in Poets
I remember you— the way your hands fit mine, like rivers that knew the curves of my soul, like fire that kissed the shadows of my skin.
With an Open Heart I write these words, so heavy with regret, A heart full of silence, too long unmet. Time has passed, yet your absence remains,
