he walks along the stepping stones
like the path a young child's feet make
skipping, so carefree
he remembers holding her hand
blood dripping from their fingertips
but memories have no noise
and he's so empty
in his mind, birds sing in the trees
like they used to for him
he wonders if they sang for her
but now it's silent
his tragedy lies in silence
like the still of the storm
a quiet violence...
it remains unbroken
he remembers when they didn't need to speak
his feet step in the center of every stone
coloring inside the lines...
tracing inside the boundaries
it was always his mind's protection
but was it ever really there?
was she ever really there?
the answer is unspoken
because memories have no sound
silent voices can't speak out loud