Sometimes
āSomeĀ evenings arrive withoutĀ trudge.Ā The door stays silent, and the clock is louder than the reason. A mother lingers at the doorstep, a sister by the window, the father by the long paths or brother by theĀ running hot and cold but everyone is counting breaths instead of stars.Ā FearsĀ slipĀ in quietly, painting the shadows where the lively laughter was once.Ā Everyone whispers of small delays, but the little stubborn heart sometimes already knows.Ā Sometimes the worst imagined is not just the imagination. ItĀ escorts home wearing absence and the house learns theĀ a-new-terrible-silence-typo presence.ā


















