# A Dot For You I place a dot here for you, a small point on the endless page— not a period that closes anything, but a seed that might grow into a word, a phrase, a world. See how it catches the light? How it holds its own smallness with such quiet dignity? This dot is patient. It has nowhere to rush. I could have written your name— those letters your mother chose, the syllables that have carried you through decades of becoming. But a dot seemed more honest somehow, more like the space between what we say and what we mean. It is the pause before speech, the silence in a conversation where understanding deepens. It is the period of a sigh, the full stop of a glance held just a moment too long. I place this dot here for you because words fail— they always do— and sometimes the truest things are the ones we cannot say, only mark with a point, a speck, a small dark circle on the vastness of white. Let it be enough. Let it be everything.

Don't stop missing me, please...
even if I don't know if I still have you.
Even if you are only in scattered memories,
and in the words that lie between us.

I need you to be in my thoughts,
in the silence after midnight before I fall asleep,
everywhere...but mostly deep inside me.
I need to cry...for you,
and for everything that did not come true.

Shoot me with thousands of doubts,
and stop to die for a while.
And then revive me with your hands,
and delete any question marks from me.
Don't stop missing me, please...

If this pain disappears, I will be empty.
I don't want to forget how much I love you
even if I forget that you loved me too.
I don't want you in my life for a second
even if you are the most terrible lack in it.
Let me be a dot for you,
describing everything I could be.

In many points I will hide everything unsaid,
everything I was and was not.
I also turned the expectation of you into a dot,
because none of us could write the point...