You painted the air with silent storms
Your eyes held maps of untold forms
A flicker of something I couldn’t name
Fading quick
Like a match in rain

You spoke in colors I couldn’t keep
A language lost between wake and sleep

The last frame before you left
A moment caught
Then it collapsed
Like water slipping through my hands
I reached for more
But it was sand

Your touch was a line I couldn’t trace
A story folded into empty space
The room still murmurs of your laugh
But the echoes run too fast
Too fast

You lived in places the light won’t chase
A fleeting world
A fleeting face

The last frame before you left
A memory blurred
Then it recessed
Like fading ink on a weathered page
I turned the corner
You turned the age