The Archivist of Unlived Days

By Nidhi

The archivist of unlived days

files silence into labelled drawers,

shelves intentions still sealed in air.

Mornings arrive like misaddressed letters-

opened, skimmed,

abandoned.

Motion becomes artful evasion:

a cup lifted, a chapter turned,

not for nourishment

but as ritual.

Hunger appears,

not for food,

but to forget.

The hours pass in curated retreat.

Fiction softens the static,

sugar sweetens the drift.

Desire decays into detour.

Thought is mistaken for becoming.

There is talk

of starting soon-

when the air clears,

when the pulse quickens,

when meaning returns.

But storms do not ask permission.

Calendars do not forgive.

And mirrors,

in time,

forget how to reflect.

The archive grows-

meticulous, untouched.

A lifetime, perfectly preserved

in the absence of a life.

By Nidhi