the night remembers her

under the white night,

moonlight rests on the wall —

maybe it was her face once.

the wind moves through the window,

it carries a smell I knew —

maybe it was her hair.

the cup on the table is still warm.

the candle flickers.

sometimes I feel she’s near,

but it’s only the air breathing.

the water outside still waits

to touch her feet.

I see its trembling

in the reflection of my glass.

my heart calls her,

but only the ceiling replies.

I light a cigarette,

watch the smoke fade.

it looks like her silence —

soft, endless,

unreachable.

every night I tell myself,

she’s not gone.

she’s just hiding

in the moonlight that falls

on my empty chair.