When Her Shadow

She said my name like it wasn’t broken.

Not a rescue,

but a recognition,

the way an old song finds you

just before you forget what silence feels like.

She stood there,

not glowing, not floating,

no wings, no halo,

just eyes that stayed

even when she blinked.

That kind of staying,

it folds time in half.

We didn’t talk about forever.

We talked about toast,

and how it always burns when you watch it.

We laughed like we’d been doing it

for decades in another life

with cheaper rent and less worry.

I didn’t ask for anything divine.

I just wanted someone

who’d hold the grief like a guitar,

not to fix it,

just to play the damn thing

without flinching.

Then came the turn,

not a storm,

but a shift in the light,

a dog barking at nothing,

her face turning sideways,

saying something soft

about how real love

feels less like drowning

and more like learning to breathe

in smoke.

There were no fireworks,

just the echo of footsteps

that didn’t walk away.

And a silence

that finally didn’t need

filling.