The Day Is Over

It hurts—
deep, raw,
like a forgotten song
that once meant everything.
 
Your touch—gone.
Your eyes—
no longer carrying
the color of safety.
 
There was never any exhaustion in you,
only quiet strength.
But now—
even that is memory.
 
I still believe
beauty is greater than rage.
But your scent—
the warmth of your hair—
is no longer in the air.
 
This life pulses with pain.
Peace?
That, too, left with you.
 
All signs of you
washed out,
like chalk on a slate
someone was desperate to clean.
 
Your absence is loud.
Your tenderness—
replaced by something brittle,
unforgiving.
 
How did you manage
to take all the joy with you—
not just now,
but for all the time ahead?
 
I sit in this chaos,
not searching for belief,
but for need—
my own need,
my own broken sense
of what it means to be well.
 
Yes,
I wanted this too.
Yes,
I made the choice.
But what’s gone, is gone.
 
I went against myself
just to tell you the truth:
I loved you.
Honestly.
Unreservedly.
 
Not as a poetic dream
but as a need.
A brutal, essential need.
 
Because if not me—
then who?
 
Who else would dare
to be your soul’s counterpart,
risking everything,
only to be met
with silence?
 
And still—
I accept this reality.
Even when it bleeds.
 
But somewhere,
quietly,
in the hidden corridors of my heart,
I return to you.
 
Again and again.
 
To the peaks,
to the sea floors—
to the places
where I can still tell you the truth
without breaking.
 
Because today,
I no longer have the courage
to deny it.