a room wrapped in soul songs and what-ifs.
"some hearts break so quietly, the world doesn’t even notice."
the air smells like snickerdoodle cookies and vinyl. warm, then suddenly cold. a record spins with no needle. the sound is memory, not music.
a velvet dress still hangs on the door. a gold earring rests on the nightstand. the lipstick on the mirror reads: “i’m leaving this time.” but it’s been there for decades.
she lives in poems no one remembers writing. not angry. not vengeful. just unfinished.