a quiet aftermath,
sitting side by side,
silence thick as black smoke, building flames deep in the woods,
a fragile, weighty heft among the fleshy things
while orbs of melancholy storm the unknown beaches,
search the sandy floor,
for answers that lie in the patterns of the deep blue,
or the way the light falls through the sweltering prism
words feel small,
like stones skipping across a bottomless pit, sinking,
while reaching out,
my hand a bridge across your sorrow
i speak in the language of presence,
a shared breath,
the soft rhythm of hearts beating in unison,
a reminder that you are not alone
that memories are for naught,
fragments of laughter and late-night talks,
a tapestry of moments,
now tinged with the bittersweet
i don’t say it will be okay,
because some losses carve deep,
leaving shadows that linger,
but i promise you this—
in the echo of the silence,
in the space where your friend once stood,
there is room for both sorrow and solace,
a place where healing begins
Fred Aiken Writing 