The night unfolds its cape, but the dark I prefer for my solitude
The dream is lost, a forgotten ember in the hearth of memory.
My hands ache for the soft curve of your waist, the brush of your hair
that once smelled of sun and distant fields.
You were the rain on the corrugated iron of my heart,
a sudden downpour that quenched a thirst I didn't know I carried.
Now, only the dry earth remains,
cracked and yearning for the storm you embodied.
I walk through rooms that once echoed with your laughter,
and each object, a silent witness,
whispers your name, a ghost on the tongue of the air.


I see past places where our shadows once danced,
and the world is monochrome, drained of your vibrant hues.
Even the Vermilion wine, my companion in quiet contemplation,
tastes of absence, a bitter vintage.
You left, and with you went the color of my days,
the vibrant strokes that painted my sky.
Now, only the overcast remains,
a persistent gray, a reminder of the day you became
a horizon I could no longer reach.
My love, my lost star, the universe itself
seems to hold its breath, waiting, like me, for your return.