What is in the air?
he asked me softly.
Is it love, or dust, or ash?

It’s the quiet hesitation
of something unresolved.
Distance makes it worse—
makes you buckle,
makes you blush
when you hear that voice,
the one that sends
a rapid rash through every nerve
and deeper still.

It gives you hope,
but what lies beyond?
Is there something
rippling out?
What if not?