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Glass Lilacs

by Unknown
Chapter 1
I found them blooming by the window,
their petals clear as rain caught mid-fall.
They chimed when the wind passed through,
each note soft as your voice.

I cut a stem and held it to the light.
Inside, a pulse of color moved,
not violet, not blue,
but something between breath and memory.

I pressed one to my chest
and thought I felt it open.
The glass did not cut me;
it only whispered your name,
like a promise the world forgot to keep.

Now they grow through every dream I have,
rooted in absence, fed by longing.
When I wake,
the air still smells faintly of you,
and the shards on the sill
glow as if waiting to be gathered.