No One Told Me The World Could End This Quietly

(an unsent letter)

Every heartbeat feels like a countdown now.
I count them in the dark
one for your voice,
two for the day you left.
three for the time you almost turned back.

There’s no calendar anymore,
but I mark the days,
in how much ash settles on my windowsill,
in how long the silence stretches before cracking.

I remember the way you slept,
like the world could wait.
Now it does nothing but end,
as if we never slept,
and time won't wait.

I whisper your name,
just to prove my mouth still works.
The air tastes like smoke and static,
I keep thinking maybe the wind carries sound,
and that somewhere, somehow,
you’ll hear me, if you're not gone by now.

I saved your last message in my coat pocket,
the one that said “be safe” like it could protect me.
It’s worn thin.
I read it every morning like prayer,
like ritual,
like maybe our memory,
or our soft goodbye,
wasn’t the last thing you meant to send.

I don't know where you are.
If you're a ghost now,
or if I am.

But if this letter finds you,
know that I’m still writing,
still waiting,
still loving.
In these ruins, I'm still here for you.

Endlessly yours, L