The Hollow Wing
They say if you love something, let it go. But what if it doesn’t fly? What if it walks away... slow, bleeding, barefoot and still you can’t stop watching the imprint of her steps?
She left me in pieces I didn’t know I had. And now I collect them. Each breath. Each flicker of memory.
The way she said my name like she wanted to ruin it.
The way her fingers paused before touching anything alive.
I’ve made a home of waiting. I rearranged silence until it looked like her. I taught the walls how to whisper her voice. But waiting is a violent thing.
It carves. It rots. It stains the quiet with want.
And every night, I feel her moving.... not here, not yet.... but somewhere.
Coming. Not the bird I once watched.
Something darker. Hollowed out. Sharp. And I’ll open the door anyway. I’ll say her name the way a wound asks to be touched.
Because this time, I don’t want her to stay. I want her to ruin me completely.
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