The last letter

Today I spoke to you again,
though I know the air won’t answer.
I left your photos on the table,
as if staring at them could soften time.

Years have gone by,
yet your voice still stumbles over my name
in the saddest corner of my dreams.
Sometimes I wake up thinking you’re still here,
that I’ll open the door and smell your perfume,
that you’ll say “I’m home now”...
but only silence walks in.

The world moved on, of course.
People laugh, clocks don’t stop.
But I’m still trapped in that day,
your hands slipping from mine,
an I love you caught inside an I’m sorry,
and a goodbye I still can’t pronounce.

Some wounds never heal,
they just learn to ache more slowly.
And I swear I try to live,
I smile when I can,
but sometimes life is so heavy
that I just want to go back to when you were here.

If you can really hear me,
if there’s something after all this,
tell me you’re okay.
Tell me that love never dies,
that you’re still waiting somewhere
where goodbyes don’t exist.