[Start]
The tea goes cold upon the sill.
An hour hushed. The air lies still.
I meant to sip, to start the day—
but your name came and chose to stay.
Do you follow the memory, or try to move through the day?
→ [[Follow the memory]]
→ [[Move through the day]]
[[Follow the memory]]
The sparrows sing; they never knew
the sky turned gray the day I lost you.
Their joy feels borrowed, faint and thin,
a light too loud for what’s within.
Sit with the ache or push it away?
→ [[Sit with the ache]]
→ [[Push it away]]
[[Move through the day]]
I sweep the floor, refold the light,
pretend you’ll knock again tonight.
Some days I hope, some days I ache—
as if grief missed what it should take.
Let hope speak or surrender to ache?
→ [[Let hope speak]]
→ [[Surrender to ache]]
[[Sit with the ache]]
But then the wind slips past my skin,
a breath too soft to not be kin—
and I recall, with every shake:
you don’t need form for hearts to break.
End
→ [[Start again]]
[[Push it away]]
The light returns, but nothing stays.
I walk through hollow, sunny days.
Yet every shadow hides your face—
grief lingers where I leave no space.
End
→ [[Start again]]
[[Let hope speak]]
A bird lands near the windowsill—
a quiet shape, the air goes still.
Perhaps you’re near in some small way,
enough to walk me through today.
End
→ [[Start again]]
[[Surrender to ache]]
I lie beneath the woven thread
of all the things we left unsaid.
And wonder if what grief won’t take
is all the love it leaves in wake.
End
→ [[Start again]]
Dibyangana (she/her) is a poet and dreamer who finds silence most eloquent when written down. Her work has appeared in Spillwords, Academy of the Heart and Mind, Literary Yard, and many other spaces where soft things live. She loves dusk skies, fantasy books, and conversations that feel like warmth. You’ll find her offline, mostly — but always alive in words.