I want your ghost in my doorway,
your breath folded into the corners
where my shadows sleep.
Your name hums in the walls,
the house remembers you
better than I do.

Nights come early now,
October moves through me
with cold fingers that feel like you returning.
I walk through the woods
not knowing if I am grown
or still the same age
as my first heartbreak.

I check my reflection online,
not to see myself,
but to imagine your eyes
finding the pieces I pretend to forget.
You left so easily,
closing a door
that never even held your fingerprints.

You move through the world
reckless, bright,
always a little too close to falling,
and it makes me want to follow you
just to see where the air breaks.
You look untouchable,
and it ruins me.

Sometimes I whisper your name
into the quiet
just to hear how close it sits
to a cry.

I collect the memories you dropped,
fold them like shirts,
place them neatly on my shelf
as if you meant to leave them here,
as if you meant
to stay.

Onnaya