Forgotten Conversations

You said something that evening— words I almost caught, a phrase that flickered between us like a candle's last breath before the dark takes it.

I've searched the hallways of my memory for that exact turn of language, retraced our steps through kitchen light and the hum of an ordinary Tuesday, but it slips like water through a fist.

Yet something remains— a warmth, a shape, a knowing that we touched something true, even if the words themselves have become air again, invisible.

This is how we lose each other slowly, not through argument or silence, but through the gentle forgetting of what was said in the spaces between heartbeats, leaving only the echo of having been heard.