it's empty
the place my heart should be is empty
no furniture, no flickering light
no trembling hands clutching warmth in the dark
just
space
and the echo of what was supposed to be
I pressed my ear to the silence once—
thought I heard a name I used to answer to
but maybe it was the wind
or maybe it was memory
scraping its knees again
I’ve tried to fill it, you know
with old music
with new skin
with laughter that doesn’t reach the bones
with god
and ghosts
and good intentions
but it stays hollow,
like it’s waiting for something
that knows better than to come back
some mornings I stare into it
like it’s a mouth
ready to speak
but only if I stop breathing first
and I wonder—
is this what healing is?
not a heart returned
but a room
finally
quiet
~ ola