Maybe one day,
I will write a poem or a letter with my tears.
It should have been a rare moment of silence in my life.
Not sadness, not despair, not anger, not resentment.
But a gentle, expectant sadness:
"It would be nice to be with you even after death."
In the firelight filling the sky behind you, you murmured to me who had no heartbeat and no longer breathed.
Intention: "I love you" has been forever the moment our fingers were intertwined.
