that time

 

That time—
when silence stretched between seconds,
and her reply did not come,
my mind became a storm without warning.

Thoughts unraveled into shadows,
whispers of doubt growing louder than truth,
each second a question,
each question a quiet kind of fear.

I told myself it was nothing—
just time, just space—
but memory is a cruel storyteller,
and it painted the past all over again.

The echoes returned—
of waiting, of losing, of almosts that broke me,
and suddenly I was there again,
in a place I promised I had left behind.

I don’t want to feel that again—
that hollow pull in the chest,
that fragile thread of hope
trembling under imagined endings.

So I breathe—
hold onto what is real,
remind the storm inside me:
not every silence is goodbye.