In the quiet corners of your absence, I whisper sweet nothings to the wind,
only to find it echoing your name in soft, hesitant caresses.
Your laughter was once a melody,
now it plays like a broken record,
looping endlessly, hauntingly.
The stars above us once held our dreams,
now they blink in silent witness,
as I trace our story in the air with trembling fingers.
Each line glows briefly,
then fades like our yesterdays melting into tomorrow.
Do you remember the garden in spring,
where flowers bloomed like promises unspoken?
I visit there sometimes, alone,
and sit beneath the old oak tree,
listening to the rustle of leaves,
your name carried upon the breeze.