You returned empty handed along a soft trail of suggestion. We left the sky undone, the wind, unopened. Darkness came, uninvited, draped itself over the door. We settled for shadows, disappearing too soon, a river of black overflowing its waterless banks.
I asked you for a word, in your own voice. Nothing. A gesture. Only the slight movement of your hand, signing a word that might have meant "future." Fading breaths say less than silence. A heart unlocked is not necessarily open.
Blank space is the vague inarticulation of a question, wanting an owner, forlorn dream, waning in the dim light.