It is not the cold of ice that wraps around my skin,
But your feelings slowly drifting away from within.
The wind that once carried the shape of your name
Now speaks without meaning, hollow and tame.
When will the warmth of who you were return,
When will your presence be something I can feel again?

This house stands silent, once alive with light,
Now a nest of memories and quieted nights.
No footsteps remain to follow the dark,
Only the shadow of “us” lies still in the park.

In every corner of words you no longer say,
Live promises loosened, quietly giving way.
The ceiling hangs low with hope torn apart,
A narrow space holding a defenseless heart.

Is it enough to stay by a flame growing weak,
Or is hope too little, too fragile to keep?
The candle you lit at the start of our name
Was not blown out, only left to fade into flame.