My Sweetheart

My Sweetheart,

There is one last breath left in me.
My vision blurs —
I am not watching you anymore,
only remembering.

My heart collapses quietly.

In this final moment
I return to our blue night —
you,
the tiny room,
wind filling the curtains like a silent witness.

Under the blanket
our bare skins touched,
not as bodies
but as something softer —
souls leaning into each other.

I remember the warmth between us,
the faint heat rising when your hands
rested on my waist.

I remember the night
you placed your head against me
and the moon watched us
like it knew a secret.

Now, beneath this white night,
my lips gather your memory
as if breaking apart
might let me feel you again.

My sweetheart,
I still carry your scent in the dark.
I still see you in my hands.

I once told you,
“You are my life.”
But you gave me only the word “my,”
not the life.

Now I am a quiet ember,
a soul burning low.

These small tears
whisper what I cannot say —
that you are still my life,
and I still long
for that blue night,
that tiny room,
where the wind moved gently
around us.

And I remain here,
breathing your memory.