She dissolves in plain sight
not absence,
but a presence too quiet
to disturb the air.
--*--*--*--*--*--*--*--*--
He passes through her,
eyes grazing
but never stopping.
Ears twitch
at the sound of her breath,
then forget she ever exhaled.
--*--*--*--*--*--*--*--*--
Her days smear into one another,
unlabeled jars on a shelf,
collecting dust,
never opened.
--*--*--*--*--*--*--*--*--
There is no forward,
only this
a transit
that does not end.
--*--*--*--*--*--*--*--*--
He speaks to the shape of her
but never the soul inside it.
He holds her weight
as if it were a coat
he might shrug off
when summer comes.
--*--*--*--*--*--*--*--*--
She gave him the last of her language,
and now she is mute.
Dependent not by choice,
but by erosion
the slow undoing
of a self
that once stood upright.
--*--*--*--*--*--*--*--*--
Her eyes,
mirrors turned inward,
see too much
and nothing at all.
--*--*--*--*--*--*--*--*--
Inside;
a silent howl lodges deep
where words once grew.
--*--*--*--*--*--*--*--*--
If even one voice reached back
unafraid of the dark,
unshaken by the quiet storm
perhaps
the silence
would not bruise
so deeply.
--*--*--*--*--*--*--*--*--
About the Creator
Nash Georges
An old soul who embraces the power of words and needs an outlet to have a voice. I am delighted to be part of this platform and hope I create a positive impact on those who dare enter my mind. Thank you for reading.



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