Residue of Silence

There's a glass still on the table where you sat

a ring of water telling me what happened after that

I press my hand to the wall where the paint ran thin

some rooms hold the shape of what has been

I keep finding things that don't belong to me anymore

small and ordinary, pressed beneath the door

What remains — the shape of you without the sound

the kind of quiet only left behind

I trace the line where you were,

and I was found

in what remains

A voicemail I never deleted but don't play the date you sent

it, aging in the grey

There's a frequency

only opened ears can know

the ones that learned to listen as they go

I've been keeping inventory of the hollow and the whole everything that

lingers at the edges of a soul

What remains — the shape of you without the sound

the kind of quiet only left behind

I trace the line where you were,

and I was found

in what remains

Maybe nothing really ends it just moves further from the light

becomes the ground beneath our feet

the thing we walk on every night

What remains — the shape of you without the sound

the kind of quiet only left behind

I trace the line where you were,

and I was found

in what remains (oh)

(what remains) (hmmmm)

what remains