FOR EVENING LONGINGS

Sadness clings to these misty windows

and something calls me deeper into myself.

Like praying over my bitter life,

I'll write about you wherever I go.

I'm holding this grief that came too early

there's nothing I can do about it.

I have to leave,

scattered in the blind darkness

where endless roads will surround me.

I beg for mercy

from the ground crushed under my feet,

but my past won't leave me alone.

Birds have settled on my shoulders,

and every wing smells like freedom.

Why do we only look at our own sky?

My fears are as close as the memory of your lips.

The words that seemed impossible became your guide.

You went toward those endless fires,

holding onto foreign places.

But I'm cold, even in the desert.

Even living like a butterfly

with my careless, short, scattered days

my heart that can't fit into years,

how did you make it through even one day?

You set my dying life aside.

My tired eyes can't find peace in open clouds.

Who can hold onto a ruined morning?

But inside, I'm still collecting sadness.

Can you really forget old wounds?

Especially on evenings like this,

when even the moon won't bring you back...

Who should I blame for this pain?

Every moment without you feels empty.

I've learned that everything comes back around.

That's what I told myself tonight,

all because of these evening longings.

Rain hits the windows tonight

and each drop feels like a memory I can't let go.

Your shadow still moves through my rooms,

touching things you used to hold.

I trace where you're not

in every corner where silence grows thick.

The walls remember your laugh,

but they only give me echoes now.

Time moves like honey in my veins,

slow and golden, sticky with regret.

I count the hours since you left

each one a small death I have to survive.

The seasons change outside my door.

Spring blooms where winter used to be,

but inside this house of memory,

it's always the day you walked away.

I write your name in morning frost

and watch it disappear when the sun comes up.

Like everything else between us,

it fades before I can hold it.

Your letters sit yellowed in drawers,

promises that time turned into lies.

Sometimes I read them by candlelight,

trying to bring back what we were.

The garden grows wild without care,

weeds choking the flowers you planted.

But I can't bring myself to cut them

they're the last things your hands touched.

Night after night I climb these stairs,

each step heavy with things I never said.

In dreams you come back to me whole,

only to vanish with morning light.

I've learned to carry this weight,

this love that has nowhere to go.

It sits in my chest like a stone,

smooth and cold from years of holding.

The mirror shows a stranger's face,

aged by sorrows I can't name.

When did I become this person

who only talks to empty rooms?

But still I wait by the window,

watching for your familiar shape.

Hope is cruel company,

but I can't send it away.

Because in the space between heartbeats,

in the pause between breath and word,

I still feel you, almost real,

like warmth from a dying fire.

So I'll keep this watch,

writing poems to your absence,

until the stars forget their patterns

and the earth stops turning toward dawn.

The coffee grows cold in my cup

while I sit here thinking of you.

Even ordinary moments like this

become heavy with what we've lost.

I wonder if you think of me too,

in quiet moments when the world slows down.

Do you remember how we used to talk

until the sun came up?

Sometimes I catch myself saving stories

to tell you later,

forgetting for a moment

that later never comes anymore.💔

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