I placed a cup of coffee on the desk,
Near the open pages of our lives, where time
Rests like the last sigh of the sea.
The steam curls upward—hope dissolving into air,
And I am left with my longing, my quiet confession.

ѕєνєи years, my love, you’ve floated somewhere
Between ᴅᴀᴡɴ and ᴅᴜsᴋ, neither ʜᴇʀᴇ nor ɢᴏɴᴇ,
Each morning a thin thread I will not break—
I hold your hand, though you do not know it,
And whisper our stories into your silence.

The children have grown with your laughter in their eyes,
Their voices like waves that crash and retreat.
They ask about you, and I hesitate,
Pulling the past from memory’s deep well,
Where your smile, once radiant, flickers like sunlight.

I remember your ғɪʀsᴛ κιѕѕ, its secret warmth,
The wonder you carried in your gaze,
Our nights woven with laughter and unsaid things—
Now only the ghost of your voice remains,
Echoing in the hollow rooms of my heart.

I cook with your recipes, your hands guiding mine,
I braid our daughter’s hair, feeling your touch,
I mend broken toys, bandage small wounds,
And when they ask if you’ll wake, I hold back tears—
My silence, a prayer disguised as a lie.

The bed has turned into a ᴅᴇsᴇʀᴛ, ʙᴀʀʀᴇɴ and ᴄᴏʟᴅ,
I sleep in the shadow you once filled with breath,
I laugh at the memories you left behind,
But my...