The Nonconformist Culture

I wait in the spaces between breaths,
speaking your name
in a language only my heart remembers.

I don’t shout. I don’t call.
I only hope
that the stillness, the quiet, the dark—
that something carries you back to me.

I trace the shape of your absence
like a shadow I can almost hold,
and I tremble
at how much I want you
to step back into the light of me.