There is a place where sound forgets how to come back
~ not from absence, but from reverence.
Some voices carry too much light, too much sorrow,
to be mirrored.
She moved through rooms that never kept shape,
where her breath unraveled before reaching the walls.
Not silence, but something softer,
like the hush before a memory chooses to return.
Her dreams kept walking long after her voice had gone quiet,
like ribbons drifting into skies that never asked
what color they were.
There were moments time forgot how to name,
and she lived there like a question no one dared to finish.
She never waited for return...
some hearts are built to echo outward only,
never to retrieve.
What remained was not traceable.
It moved in the space between recognition and forgetting...
like a warmth you carry,
without knowing why your chest feels full when the wind shifts.