It’s quiet, so quiet; perhaps, “empty” is a better word for it,
It’s something you wake to, walk through, it haunts you,
Plays itself over and over, like television reruns we watch
Trying to catch what we might have missed the first time,
It’s ironic, a nest of possibilities, a he said, she said, you said,
Things you did, the things you can’t undo, you can’t rewind
The memory, and it’s quiet, so quiet, “empty” is a better word.