My Entire Soul Rests Here

A small bear sits facing the window,
back turned, as if privacy still matters.
Light presses gently against the glass,
unable to reach what it’s meant to comfort.

“I miss you” feels too small in this room.
Too clean. Too polite.
It doesn’t carry the weight of mornings like this,
or the silence that knows your name.

What I feel doesn’t fit into common phrases.
It lives in the pauses between thoughts,
in the way I hesitate before speaking aloud,
unsure which words will break me open.

The room remembers you even if it won’t say how.
Corners hold their breath.
The air waits for something it recognizes,
and never quite finds it.

So I sit with what can’t be phrased properly.
Not to simplify it, not to soften it.
Some losses demand more than language offers,
and I honor you by letting that be true.

—Tears of Memory