Those

Those shadows that linger behind the kitchen door,
Those whispers that rustle through autumn leaves,
Those faces we meet on a rainy afternoon,
Those moments that stitch themselves into memory’s seam.

They are the quiet “those” that do not demand attention—
The colour of tea left too long in the cup,
The faint scent of wet pavement after a summer shower,
The echo of laughter that fades before the last note.

In the catalogue of everyday, “those” are the signposts,
Marking the turns we almost missed, the roads we chose,
The ordinary made extraordinary by mere recognition—
A reminder that even the unseen holds its own quiet grace.