She sealed her goodbye
Like the closing of a quiet door.
Not slammed, not broken...
Just gently shut
On everything that is no more.
But her letter lingered in him.
It rested in his hands
Like something is still alive deep within.
A fragile echo whispering to him to wait,
Curling quietly around his days.
Her words fell softly,
Like leaves letting go off the branches.
Each line is a step away,
Each sentence is a breath
Of long awaited peace.
But He read it like a promise
That the world forgot to keep.
Trying to find the meaning in silence,
Holding onto spaces in between.
Where love once lived,
Believing it might find its way back to him.
And so Hope became his shelter,
Built from her final words.
Not strong enough to hold her,
But enough to keep him wait.
She wrote with her hands
And her wounds are healing.
He read it with his heart
And the cut is just beginning.
She walked forward
Into a life unburdened.
Her past unfolding behind
Like a chapter in a book
Reaching the last line.
But he remained in that same page
Of the book where she is the main character.
Gently bound to the memory of her,
And the all of the words from her last letter.
