You were the storm.
I was the sea.

And we both broke—
just trying to breathe.

Now,
you’re the memory
I set down carefully.

And I…
I am the sky
after the rain.

But even the sky
holds traces of the storm—
the scent of it,
the weight of clouds that used to be.

I carry you
in the way quiet things remember:
not loudly,
not constantly,
but completely.

And sometimes,
when the wind changes,
I still turn my face toward it—
wondering
if you ever feel it too.