Silhouette There’s a woman in my mind. I’ve created you so I’m not alone, to fill the cracks within my silence. I imagine every part of your body, but none of it takes shape. Your image is blurry, like a dream that fades when waking. I want to speak with you, and when I do, something inside me breaks: I know you’re not real. I hear it in your invented voice, in gestures that belong to no one, in words without roots. My mind tries hard to sculpt you, but only shapes a shadow. You’re barely a silhouette, an echo of what I long for, a mirage that embraces but never touches me.