The Inner Script of Memory

In my heart, words like knives,
echoes threading through each phrase.
How can I explain, how can I tell—
only writing feeds this hunger.
Within words I carve and shape
one reflection that is you.

Everything laughs with bright delight,
I bend beneath the weight of words.
In your spell I burn in silence,
then suddenly see—you are not here!

Wide-eyed and empty, I remain,
memory's inner manuscript,
waiting—only for you.