A photograph without a name, pressed flat as though it had been waiting for decades to breathe again
The glass was cracked, but her eyes still followed whoever dared to open the cabinet
A button, a curl of hair, a slip of paper — fragments that claimed to remember more than we ever could
They said the cabinet was locked, but the faces inside had long since escaped into the town.
The rain obeyed her voice, but left her pale as its final gift
The coat remembered her better than we ever could
She left no footprints, only the hush that follows when a song ends
