Quiet Hour

If I slipped beneath the world, would your love still reach me?
If I looked up from the dimness, would I see the flowers you once left,
or have they already wilted in your mind?
When the earth shifts around me, it feels like the faint echo
of when you remembered me at all.
When silence becomes my only companion,
I wonder if your thoughts ever drift my way—
or if I’ve already been replaced by brighter things.

I feel far from the days when sunlight touched my skin.
I wander through the dark, repeating old mistakes
like a story no one tells anymore.
If I had come to your door, would you have opened it?
Or would you have paused, searching your memory
for the name you once whispered?

I escaped the noise and the lies of a life
where I never quite fit the frame.
Now I rest in this quiet place,
carrying the weight of everything I couldn’t hold.
When the moon rises full, I feel its pull—
a reminder of all the moments I missed,
all the ones you’ve likely forgotten.

My thoughts drift without settling.
Time stretches endlessly here, cold and still,
a room where I sit with the fading edges of myself,
trying to remember who I was
before I became a shadow in your past.

And when the earth stirs, I think of you—
wondering if you ever think of me,
or if my memory has already slipped
from your hands.