In the quiet corner
of a drawer,
secretly basking in the dust,
I hold the whispers of moths.
You, the companion,
cling to your warmth, unaware of the siege.
Tick, tick, tick
in perpetual sameness,
I see moments slip
between the cracks,
some pause,
some mark others' beginnings.
Left unpaired in the corner,
collecting shadows,
I have seen the half-steps taken
and the journeys begun
without me.
Echoes now comfort me.
Rust lingers,
beside the table,
once a companion of plates,
now in solitude,
I ponder over forgotten meals,
secrets whispered with each clink.