watching the road until my eyes ache.
Every shadow looks like you,
and every footsteps sounds like yours.
I have kept our memories like glass,
afraid they will break if I breathe too hard.
My heart is tired of asking "when?"
and my soul is tired of being alone.
Waiting for you is a slow, quiet pain—
like a lamp burning in an empty room,
lighting up a path
that you may never walk again.
