I once thought I understood silence.
I thought it could only be found in empty rooms, monotonous pages, and in the pause at dusk just before the birds remember to sing.
I was wrong.
True silence now carries your name — not as a whisper, but as a wound. It does not speak, because it does not need to. It simply exists — like light, like time, like love once did.
You, once my sun after aeons of winters, now hang above me like a perpetual eclipse.
And yet, I have no maledictions for darkness. I have learned to navigate by the recollection of your light.
My beloved — and I still call you that, not as possession, but as a matter of reverence —
I speak to you now not as a scorned one, but as a transformed one.
There are pains so pure that they become prayers, and losses so final that they leave no place for bitterness — only a sacred hurt that, over time, becomes breath for the soul.
You were not just a woman to me. You were the puzzle I would never piece together.
The mystery I could never unlock, but I committed myself to the inquiry of you.
You see, I never wanted to possess you.
I only wanted to sit alongside you — not loved as men wish to be loved, but recognized, as poets wish to be recognized by stars.
I did not desire your body, but the accumulation of thoughts that always seemed empty between each of our words.
But I forgot — perhaps it was in the desire to belong — that no soul can be a Homeland.
No heart can be a country. And even those who express love, can exile you.
And so, you left — not as in death, but rather in the quiet pain that all endings leave unspoken.
You walked away like the breeze of autumn, and I—I remained like a tree in winter.
Still holding the vestige of your laughter on my bark.
Still wondering if spring would return, if you would return.
But trees do not call to the seasons.
They say time heals everything.
I don\'t want healing.
Because healing means forgetting, and I want to remember.
I want to carry your weight in me forever, just to know that I was in the presence of eternity.
Grief is my companion now — not a ghostly spectre of sorrow, but a quiet wife who wakes with me every morning, and lies with me every night.
She wears your scent. She hums your tunes when she thinks no one is listening.
She walks with your grace, and speaks with your breaks.
Yet I won\'t ask her to go.
I no longer ask for your return.
Because I have seen that love, even the most divine rebel, submits to the laws of transience.
Everything we call \'forever\' is just time in disguise.
But I thank you.
Yes — thank you.
For breaking me so gently that I could still sing.
For loving me so briefly that I could spend lifetimes searching for what was once mine.
For becoming a poem that will never end, even when the page runs out of paper.
I am no longer walking to chase your shadow. To know a shadow is only experienced when you experience light. And that\'s good enough.
You were my sunrise, my sunset, my word, and my silence. You weren\'t a paragraph in my story; you were the ink. And I guess even now, long after your name has fallen from my lips, it still drips from my pen.
And no, I\'m not talking to get you to come back — I\'m just talking to let you know you were probably loved more than most would be lucky to be. You were loved whole. You were loved sacrally. You were loved conditionally and without stake. And even now, although you weren\'t here, you left that love. That love lives. That love grows. That love has become me.
So when the wind breathes your name, please understand it is not the world calling you back — it is just me. Still here. Still loving you with stars and ruins.
And grief? Yes, she still wears her dress. But now she spins slowly in the moonlight. Not mournfully, but reminderly. Not disdainfully, but beautifully
However, if there is still any mercy nestled in the marrow of the universe-
If stars still listen to those who cry in silence -
Then may this letter find you like a psalm sung by drifting air.
May it find itself curled on your lap, dancing on a long night.
May it remind you that once there was a man who loved you with no escape.
If I must carry your absence as my torso carries a second spine,
Let me at least say:
It was worth the burden.
Still yours,
In the bones of every hour,
In the fold of every lost sky,
In the thorns of every rose that bloomed tepidly-
The Man Who Would Not Unlove You