She Never Mentioned Her Name

I met her the way dusk meets the sky, no announcement—just a quiet shift of color. Her presence felt unfinished, like a sentence paused, and I kept reading anyway. She never mentioned her name, yet it echoed in the way she laughed. It hid between syllables, lingered in silence, something I learned without being told. Our words moved like shared breath in winter, fogging the space until it disappeared. Minutes bent their knees, hours lost their weight, time choosing to listen instead of pass. Now I carry her like an unnamed constellation, bright enough to guide, too distant to hold. She never mentioned her name, but somehow, it memorized me.