You couldnt really see her
Prominence wasn’t her
Greatest gift.
But you’d know, the treacle
Wouldn’t linger on tastebuds
The way it does,
If it wasn’t for the saccharine
That chose to dissolve
And disappear within.
Or the scents
That lingered in the air for hours,
Even when all that remained of the rose
Was a few withered petals
And a dried up core.
So you could tell
She had walked around
The corridors, without a sound
Without being seen.
You could tell,
That her hands had moved
Over parchments, ever so lightly,
As if fearful of hurting them
And written the kindest words.
You could tell,
That she had lived
And touched your life,
Even in her absence.
For it matters as little now-
When she’s ceased to be around
As when she used to be…
And yet the world is a different place
Without her in it.
©Sai
15/1/21
Pic Credit: Debby Hudson (Unsplash)
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