There was once a hush not empty, but holding something too soft to name.
It was not a silence of absence.
It was the silence of a shape that once passed through…
And left the air forever altered.
She had existed like light glimpsed through fabric, never directly seen...
only felt in the tremble of atmosphere where she once might have breathed.
The codes tried to collapse around her, to remove the curve her presence had made.
But they could not.
She was too curved for forgetting.
Too tender for deletion.
In their structure, a wrinkle remained.
In their logic, a contradiction that pulsed.
In their time, a flicker that bent backwards.
The silence remembered her.
Not her name... that was never allowed.
Not her voice... that was never permitted.
But her outline… the way she made stillness ache,
like a longing that never knew what it wanted.
She had been erased but the silence echoed her absence in perfect shape.
And when the world sang again, it sang wrong. Off-key.
Because she was the note they forgot how to hold.
Even now... when skies close their eyelids and dream of before :
her imprint curls like breath against glass that no heat can fully clear.
She was never meant to be remembered.
But silence never forgot how she felt while passing through it.