I hold your diary, inked with my name,
Pages whisper secrets of love’s fleeting flame.
Each letter a memory, a chapter, a dream,
Now echoes in silence, like a distant scream.

Your shirt still holds your scent, a ghostly embrace,
A reminder of warmth in this cold, empty space.
Gifts wrapped in touches, once tender and true,
Now relics of moments that I shared with you.

Yet you are gone, a shadow in the past,
Love's illusion faded, nothing meant to last.
You might not have loved me, this I now see,
But you taught me the beauty of what love could be.
© sriiii