I think of you

Not as a form, but as a flicker. A disturbance in the air as the light shifts.

As a space, an absence. A negative shape carved out of the present.

A colour. A shade that tints the edges of my perception.

A sound. A half-remembered melody.

A texture. A roughness against smooth skin.

I think of you, not as a person, but as a residue.

A trace, a lingering scent, a shadow that refuses to dissipate.