When Love Died

When Love Died

When love died the room fell still,

a quiet settled on the walls,

and every breath felt heavy then,

as if the air was learning grief.

I tried to hold the fading warmth,

but it slipped softly from my hands,

and all the words we used to keep,

turned ghostlike in the settling dark.

The days that followed held a hush,

a soft reminder of the end,

and everything you used to touch,

felt colder than it ever had.

I walked through moments made of ache,

through memories that stung my heart,

and even though the world moved on,

I stayed behind for just a while.

I searched the places where we stood,

for pieces of what used to be,

and every shadow whispered truth,

that love had finished what it wrote.

But slowly light returned again,

not bright at first but steady still,

and in that glow I learned to breathe,

without your heartbeat near my own.

I kept the tenderness we shared,

the softest parts that never fade,

and though the ending left its mark,

I carried on with gentler steps.

Now when I think of what we were,

I feel the peace time brought to me,

and know that when love lost its fire,

it taught me how to rise again.