ManicWorld Magazine

Dusk breathes gold.
Your name drips
from the leaves I never caught.

You came like a season
and left like rain —
soft at first, then gone.

We were all warmth
until we weren’t.
Now even the wind
carries your echo.

I cup silence in my hands
like I’m still holding you.
But even quiet forgets.

The air grows colder
where your voice used to be.

I watch the sky soften,
knowing you won’t return.

Still, I walk through
what autumn left behind —
a little quieter,
a little more hollow