A whisper looks like a child in a warm bed with their mother in the doorway saying don’t cry. 

But a baby’s cry is bright, blinding cornsilk melting down their cheek that gets dimmer as it goes.

The livelihood of their shadows almost seemed inseparable until the wind shivered.

Flying time is like the person that hides behind the glass. 

Smiling is the pain of a little girl letting her pet go, but only so far for her to grab it once more. 

A farewell is like the door to my life slamming shut without a second glance. 

But in the heart is a memory of that scene, and there she’ll always be. 

The jarring swirl of loneliness sounds like the whispering of two strangers saying goodnight.