Unfinished Prayer

I don’t call your name out loud, but somehow, the air still shifts. Not with echoes— but with something restless, something waiting, like a door left half open in a house no one lives in. Somewhere between thought and silence, between the moment I breathe in and the moment I forget why I did, you exist. Not here, not gone, just an unanswered question stitched into the fabric of time. Tell me, how do you erase someone who still hums beneath your skin who still lingers in the weight of unsaid things?