They are not gone.
They linger in the weight of morning,
in the first sip of warmth that fills the hollow spaces.
They rest in the hush of a falling leaf,
the quiet press of time against my shoulder.
They pass in a stranger’s glance,
a fleeting kindness I almost forget to notice.
They rise in the song of a bird,
in the hush between notes where memory hums.
They settle in the fading light,
the slow descent of day into something softer.
They are not gone.
They are here….still.