The Jigsaw Files

The Jigsaw Files

In folders marked with fading dates,

I store the ghosts of us.

Laughter in compressed escapes,

grief zipped in quiet trust.

I scroll through moments pixelized,

a flicker, then it is gone.

Each file a past I have archived twice,

once lived, once moved along.

And still, when silence boots the night,

I open what I saved.

Our fragments hum in blue screen light,

our data still enslaved.

I click and drag your name again,

a ghost beneath my thumb.

Your voice replays in static loops,

half love, half requiem.

The cursor blinks, a pulse of want,

a question without send.

Each file I close becomes a prayer,

for something not to end.

Someday I will wipe these memories clean,

let blankness take their place.

But not tonight, tonight I dream,

inside your coded grace.