Beneath a Summer That Forgot to Burn

The days arrive like unopened letters,
tucked in folds of muted grey,
their meanings blurred along the seams,
as if the sun had lost its way.

The trees stand still, not quite in bloom,
not bare enough to name it grief,
they hold the weight of half-formed winds
like arms that once gave brief relief.

I pass the bench we met beneath,
where warmth once clung to worn-out wood,
your hand in mine, your breath so close,
the kind of hush no storm withstood.

The wind moves soft across my neck,
a pale imitation of your skin,
it leaves behind a chill that aches,
a hunger where your touch had been.

The rain falls light but never clears,
each drop a sigh I cannot speak,
I walk these streets not searching hope,
but chasing all that used to peak.

So let this summer stay undone,
with cloudy skies and veiled regrets,
for in this hush, I feel you still,
in every place the sun forgets.

• diimaan (05/08/2025)