The Sojourner

It starts in the quiet

a quiver at the end of a smile,

eyes that darken after a goodbye,

a hand that lingers,

a breath too long,

knuckles whitening.

The words left unsaid pollute the air

like mist on glass,

soft but blurred,

your eyes trace the shape of the empty.

As if absence could leave fingerprints.

we notice the space

the in between

where our faces expose

what mouths won’t admit

grief dressed as grace,

longing to be held,

limited by the fear

of someone noticing.

The pain written

in sideway glances

whether you’d like to admit it or not,

each gesture a confession.