What Remains
She sang me to sleep
with a voice like flint—
sparks tucked under lullabies.
Spoons clattered in the sink
like cymbals in a warning.
She kissed my grazed knee
then asked
why I always fall.
Love was measured
in thirds:
a gaze, a sigh, a withheld "well done".
At dawn,
she watered dead plants
just in case.
I mistook
her absence for freedom.
Now I trace
her shadow across my choices.
Copyright © Aaliyah O'Neil | Year Posted 2025
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