Today I remembered you whistled. . .

Somewhere between the soft rasp of my half-asleep snore

and the restless clicking of the ceiling fan,

I heard it—

a whistle.

At once, I jolted upright,

eyes fixed on the moonlit hallway.

Empty. Silent. Still.

And yet—

my mind swelled with you.

You, pacing the house with purpose,

whistling as you gathered tools and scraps

for your next “project,”

because stillness never belonged to you.

Tonight, that single note

carried a thousand forgotten things.

It struck me how memory fades—

how guilt gnaws when love softens into blur.

But tonight, I remembered.

I remembered the way you filled a room

with your whistle—

ordinary, unremarkable,

and yet, everything.

Today, I remembered you whistled.