Between Bruises & Blooms

There should be
two dragons.

Black
and blue.

Thunder
and blade.

Tairn
and Sgaeyl.

Some names
are built
to be spoken
together.

So when one
disappears,

the other sounds
unfinished.

Tairn remains
enormous.

Terrifying.

Powerful enough
to make armies
remember fear.

But grief
does not care
how big you are.

It knows
where the soft places
live.

It knows
the shape
of the one
who should be
beside you.

And every empty patch
of sky
becomes evidence.

Every silence
becomes wrong.

Every moment
without her
becomes another
tiny confirmation:

she is still gone.

Maybe that is
what absence really is—

not emptiness,

but a place
still shaped
exactly
like the one
who left it.