Vestige

I trace the place where you used to rest,
fingertips ghosting over absence,
over the quiet unraveling of us.

The walls still hum with your breath,
low and distant, like a song I can’t forget.
I close my eyes,
but the melody lingers.

You were the storm I stood in willingly,
arms outstretched, waiting to drown.
And now, only echoes remain—
a silhouette in the doorway,
a whisper in the dust.

I tell myself I am free of you,
but even in my solitude,
I still speak your name.