The Shape of You
The Shape of You.
I sometimes remember the shape of you,
not your face alone,
but the space you occupied in my world.
The taste of morning conversations,
the quiet gravity of your presence,
the way a room felt fuller
simply because you were in it.
I remember waking
and carrying the thought of you into the day,
waiting for the sound of your voice,
anticipating the comfort of your arrival
like sunlight through a familiar window.
Time has passed.
More than I care to measure.
Yet some mornings,
between sleep and waking,
I still remember the shape of you.
Not all the details,
but the feeling.
The piece of my day
that once fit perfectly into place.
The sense of safety.
Of coming home.
Of being seen without explanation,
of being known without words.
And for a fleeting moment,
before memory gives way to morning,
I can almost feel it again.
The shape of you.
What do I do with that?