Fragments of silence

Fragments of Silence

In the quiet hours,

I gather the pieces of myself—

shards of laughter,

splinters of sorrow,

the soft ash of forgotten dreams.

The world moves in endless circles,

but my heart pauses

where memories still breathe,

where absence has a voice

louder than presence.

I touch the air as if it holds you,

as if love could outlast

the frailty of time,

as if silence could bloom

into a song again.

Every tear writes a sentence

on the skin of the soul—

and yet, in this ache,

there is beauty:

the proof that I have loved,

the proof that I still remember.