Cinquain
I Breathe Where You Stopped
I Breathe Where You Stopped Some days, I wake with your name curled on my tongue like morning fog — weightless, shapeless, and everywhere. It lingers in the hollows of my chest, where your laugh used to echo, where the rhythm of your voice used to rise like sunlit dust in a quiet room. You are not here. But I breathe.
By lony banza7 months ago in Poets
