Glare of a Room

Shadows spill across the room we never named

A silent frame, a quiet aim, a whispered flame

I trace the edge of your absence with my breath

And wait for somehow, somewhere, to begin again

The door holds its breath as the wind forgets our names

Dust dances like old letters burned by memory flames

We learned to blur the edges where the truth should stay

In between the lines of what we chose to throw away

Your shadow stitches angles on the cold concrete

I measure every heartbeat by the rhythm of your feet

A camera forgot us, hung in a pale, pale light

We wore our silence like a cloak through the night

This image says nothing, yet it screams in colorless blue

If I lean in closer, I swear I can hear the truth in you

We’re staring through a pane where promises once grew

Hold tight to the frame, till the story finds us true

In the glare of a room that never learned our names

I trace the outline where two silhouettes became flames

There’s a wall between us built of questions, soft and sharp

A map with no direction, a compass without heart

I reach for the edge where memory loosens its grip

Your fingers meet the air, then drift away from fingertips

The photographer forgot to press the moment to stay

We drift in echo, a caption we refused to say

This image says nothing, yet it screams in colorless blue

If I lean in closer, I swear I can hear the truth in you

We’re staring through a pane where promises once grew

Hold tight to the frame, till the story finds us true

Maybe the frame is a doorway to a brighter lie

Or a quiet portal where our secrets learn to fly

I tilt my mouth to the hush and kiss the grain

Let the fog of silence shuffle back into rain

We redraw the border with a line of breath

Two stories orbiting, tethered to what’s left

This image says nothing, yet it blooms in silent hue

If we breathe the color back, the past might pull us through

We’re staring through a pane where promises once grew

Hold tight to the frame, till the story finds us true

Let the light rewrite the edges of our scene

Until the unseen awakens, softly, clean

And in the quiet, we’ll find our unspoken truth

In the image that finally learns to tell the truth