The Unheard Song

Behind the chipped porcelain cup, humming

shakes the kitchen’s still air—a threadbare melody

barely touched by lips.

It slips out soft, like a secret leaking,

a fragile sound caught between moments,

a reaching for something

that doesn’t quite reach back.

I watch you from the edge of the table,

the hum folding into the cluttered quiet,

never loud enough to fill the space,

but enough to catch me off guard,

to notice you not as an echo,

but as a separate song,

unplayed, unheard.