In the quiet of winter's breath,
I promised to visit your grave,
A vow etched in frost-kissed air.
But memory, fickle as snowflakes,
Drifts and settles, then fades away.
We once believed existence echoed
Through the corridors of remembrance,
That life endured in whispered tales.
Yet you slipped into the night,
A shadow swallowed by icy darkness.
I stood sentinel, watching your form
Dissolve like frost on a windowpane.
Years have woven their tapestry,
And, each year, same day
I find myself unburdened—
No phantom limb of grief,
No ache for what once was.
Perhaps we live not in the echoes,
But in the quiet spaces between,
Where absence becomes a companion,
And memories thaw like spring.
Ink And Reason 