Beneath the Surface

It creeps in sideways,

a shadow that does not belong

to the light it clings to.

Not quite fear,

but the shape fear leaves behind,

its hollow echo.

It tastes like the air

before a storm—

metallic, heavy,

charged with the tension

of something that hasn’t yet

decided to break.

It settles in your chest,

not a scream,

but the memory of one,

trapped and growing louder.

Your hands tighten

around nothing,

as though the absence

might slip away too.

There is no name for it,

this ache that does not burn,

this silence that roars.

It is the weight of being seen

and not seen,

of standing still

on the edge of something

you will never understand.

You carry it.

Or maybe it carries you.