Letter to an Angel
Suspended—
that’s how the air feels.
Quiet, hanging,
moving nowhere in particular.
The moment breath stills,
time folds into a soft slumber.
Will it wake again?
I’m not sure.
But in that hush,
everything freezes.
Still. Unmoving.
And in that thin slice of silence,
I’m scrambling to gather
every broken piece of your stories
and carve them to mind.
Because when time starts flowing again,
there will be decay—
in the body, in the memory,
in the little details we once knew.
When time moves,
the truth settles in.
And I’ll have to admit a loss.
So let me linger in this pause.
A still life—
everything I want
held in a single moment.