My Life In Word

Empty Breaths and Hollow Lies

She learns him first in broken air,
In pauses that pretend to care.
His words arrive but never stay,
Like smoke that cannot find its way.

He speaks in almost-truths at night,
Soft enough to sound like light.
But when she reaches for his name,
It slips away and feels the same.

She memorizes what he won’t say,
The turning of his eyes away.
Each promise dressed in fragile guise,
A shimmer built on hollow lies.

She feels him most in empty space,
In absence wearing his disguise.
In every room he used to trace,
She hears the echo of goodbyes.

And still she breathes him in and out,
A quiet war of love and doubt.
Until she learns, with silent grace—
He was the breath she could replace.

Simona A. Brinson

Photo by Pawel Andrzejczak on Unsplash

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