I Don’t Know You

I Don’t Know You

I don’t know you

and never could,

your face drifts

like fading light.

I walk past

empty rooms

where strangers wait

to be remembered.

Your name rises

in the dark,

a sound carried

on broken air.

I reach out

for meaning,

for any truth

left between us.

You remain distant,

a shadow turning,

a thought slipping

from my grasp.

I feel the pull

of quiet nights,

the ache growing

as hours fall.

I tell myself

you mattered once,

that something lived

in the silence.

Yet even now

your shape blurs,

like old echoes

losing weight.

I don’t know you,

not then, not now,

and never could,

no matter the longing.

Still I walk,

carrying pieces,

hoping one day

I’ll understand why.