Your voice came back to me a ghost from the past

Your voice came back to me, a ghost from the past,

a bright echo in silence, too fragile to last.

You spoke of the flowers that grow by the sea,

a world without edges, where you’d still be free.

But the lines we once drew have blurred in the mist,

what was left unspoken still clings to my wrist.

Each word a small tremor, still rattles my core,

as if you might whisper like you did before.