a negative space

sometimes,

i get so detached from myself—

from us—

like a ghost watching its own shadow

fade in the morning.

when i don’t feel you near,

i begin to wonder if you were ever real,

or just a trick of memory

whispered into the hollows of my ribs.

how is your presence

emptier than your absence?

how can silence speak louder

than the sound of your voice?

you are the space between thoughts,

the breath held just before the sigh,

the warmth a fire leaves on walls

long after it’s gone out.

your existence lingers

not in your touch,

but in the way i flinch

at the idea of it returning.

as if i were haunted

by the ghost of something

that never even lived long enough to die.

i touch the places you once stood,

and feel less than air.

less than void.

as if you were a dream

that forgot it was supposed to mean something.

and yet—

i search for you in everything,

even in the ache of not finding you.

because somehow,

your absence

feels heavier

than your presence ever did.

and maybe that’s the cruelest kind of love—

when the echo sounds fuller

than the voice that made it.

when the idea of you

carries more weight

than you ever did.

and maybe,

some people are meant to be

nothing more than a question

we never stop asking.

a shadow cast

by a light

that never existed.