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WHISPERS BETWEEN NOTES

By Vera Von Monika

The night folds around us like a secret,
soft as silk, sharp as unspoken thought.
I hear your presence in the spaces,
in the hush that bends the walls,
in the echo of a breath I never took.

Light flickers across the room,
dancing on the edges of your shadow.
Every step, every pause,
feels like a pulse in the quiet,
a rhythm I could lose myself in forever.

Your eyes trace constellations
I have never learned to name,
and yet I understand them all.
They speak in a language
that refuses translation,
a delicate tension between longing and restraint.

The air is heavy with memory,
the faint trace of your hand on surfaces
I pretend not to notice.
Each glance becomes a chord,
each sigh a song,
weaving through the darkness
like smoke curling toward moonlight.

I want to follow every fragment of you,
through the streets outside,
through the quiet rooms of my mind,
through the places I thought were mine alone.
You arrive in the flicker of candlelight,
in the tremor of a chord unplayed,
in the spaces I never filled.

Even silence speaks your name.
Even stillness carries the weight of you.
I move with care,
as if every breath could fracture this world,
as if every word could bring it back together.

Time bends, unspooling around us,
and I think: if love is a music,
then we are its unseen score.
Every beat is a question,
every pause an answer
that only we can hear.

And in this fragile eternity,
I feel you not just near,
but stitched into the very shape of the night,
a presence that hums beneath my ribs,
a warmth that anchors me
in the trembling hush of us.

Even when the city sleeps,
even when I close my eyes,
I hear your song in the wind,
your voice in the pulse of the quiet.
And I would follow it forever,
through every shadow,
through every note,
through every whisper
that carries your name.

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