This gave me chills. The shift happens almost invisibly: "Your hand / was still in mine. / Warm. / Then not." Those tiny breaks carry more weight than long explanations ever could. And the ending—"something is still holding mine… it said my name in your voice"—captures that unsettling space where grief and memory become impossible to separate. Beautifully restrained, and because of that, deeply haunting.
Thank you! 🤍 I love hearing how different people interpret it. I wrote it with one feeling in mind, but I think poems become a little bit of the reader’s story too once they’re out in the world
This gave me chills. The shift happens almost invisibly: "Your hand / was still in mine. / Warm. / Then not." Those tiny breaks carry more weight than long explanations ever could. And the ending—"something is still holding mine… it said my name in your voice"—captures that unsettling space where grief and memory become impossible to separate. Beautifully restrained, and because of that, deeply haunting.
That means so much! I love stories and poems that trust the reader instead of explaining everything, so I’m really happy that came through. 🤍
The first read gave me chill. The second read break my heart.
I don't know what you meant by this but to me ce as a great loss of love.
Thank you! 🤍 I love hearing how different people interpret it. I wrote it with one feeling in mind, but I think poems become a little bit of the reader’s story too once they’re out in the world
Yes. May be that's how heart connect and reader find their solace in other's words.
that is beautiful 🤍