She Spoke To The End

She Spoke To The End

her voice soft and clear,

A thread of light through the silence.

Every word reached where I stood,

I listened, knowing she would walk away.

The room held its breath as she turned,

Shadows still and waiting,

Her eyes held stories I would never read,

The air seemed heavier with the unspoken word.

She walked away saying nothing at all,

Yet the echo of her steps filled the room.

A presence felt in the quiet that lingered,

Like a song that fades but never dies completely.

I reached for the ghost of her voice,

Only to find it slipping through my hands,

A fragile warmth that teased the edges of grief.

It left me crying with the absence Of love.

The door closed behind her with insistence,

Leaving only the memory of her stance,

A quiet command that taught me to listen,

Even when the world offered no reply.

I traced the path she had made with my eyes,

Marking each pause, each fleeting glance,

The space between words became my understanding,

A language built in silence and the courage to watch.

Time moved, indifferent, around the echo of her leaving,

Yet I held onto the residue of her presence,

A compass for the moments I might lose,

Guided by the shadow of her voice in my head.

She spoke to the end, the end was a beginning,

A lesson in patience, in quiet acceptance,

For some truths are delivered not in shouting,

in the way someone steps away, leaving everything behind.