A rain-kissed stillness. Tender hearts collecting memories of a river. I brush by in ease, leaving you with a feathery hope in the breeze. So do you, but with footprints burning in my soul. Footprints of goodbye? No. Footprints of a silhouette stay? Yes.

“I wrote you a poem, darling.”

Hah, you could never find a home in my backdrop-words.

And so I continue to beat my heart without rhythm. And so I continue to appear in the tiniest corner of your heart. Sometimes my heart is in sync with the whole universe, but never with a whole person. Unlucky? No. Backdrop? Always.

Am I yours yet? Am I mine yet?
Am I me without you?

I am just the unsignificant note on your bedroom door.