It lingers still,
those fractured frames of memory,
etched in the static of my thoughts.
Your cursed cryptic words
encrypted, fragmented, staying alive in me… Through me…
still haunt the algorithm of my discourse.

Some nights,
the void stares back harder,
a black hole swallowing the last
of my certainties.
But I know,
it’s just my past reflection fracturing,
a glitch in my solitude.

How often have I scrolled,
paused at your pixelated silhouette,
searching for proof of existence,
a breadcrumb of your now,
as if that image could patch the cracks.

What ache,
what unbearable ache,
a virus in the system,
a loop of trust corrupted.

And then the whispers came,
warnings disguised as wisdom:
“Never trust shadows that keep their secrets locked away.”

–A Solivagant’s Shoes