I keep hearing silence on the doorstep,
freezing memories like they are all
I am made of now.
They must think this is saddest.
I don’t— if only I could tell them that.
I peek into my thoughts for old photographs
Of shadows, of marks and maybe, of You, too.
Did anyone come and clean up?
That’s probably what’s keeping me here—wherever that is.
Forever this must be.
So, I’ll keep quiet and listen to silence
Because I might have missed
what it’s been telling me.

© Gheeneil


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