The page folds soft crease worn thin like a breath held too long

The page folds soft, crease worn thin like a breath held too long.

Coffee ring stains the corner—

a dark bruise that time won’t wash away.

Ink fading, but still raw,

words I never meant to send,

stuck between pages like forgotten prayers,

clinging to a silence louder than the noise I made.

I hold it, a weight of maybe and never,

thoughts curling like smoke, dissolving too soon.