FABRIC

 FABRIC

Twelve, thirteen calls unanswered,
Years have slipped away like sand,
Yet in memory's fading light,
On nights like this, your name
Is sewn, woven with mine. A quilt of our days, colors
Telling tales words cannot capture—
Laughter stitched in golden thread,
Tears in shades of midnight blue,
Each patch a moment, now distant,
Yet vivid in the heart’s quiet room. Rarely now, on fleeting moments,
I wonder what thoughts flow through you.
Do they drift like autumn leaves,
Or rush like rivers, wild and free?
Do they ever pause on me,
Or have I become a forgotten sea? Your heart, once open to our shared wealth,
Now locked tight, doubly secured.
Why guard it so? Do you ever
Creak open that heavy door,
Just to glimpse what lies beyond,
Beyond the beyond? Do you ever trace the seams
Of our quilt, now frayed with time,
And wonder if the fabric holds,
Or if it’s torn beyond repair?
Do you ever feel the weight
Of silence, thick as winter air? I do. I feel it still.
In the quiet hours, when the world sleeps,
I unravel the threads we wove,
And try to mend what’s come undone.
But the needle slips, the pattern shifts,
And I’m left with pieces, not a whole. The seasons turn, the years grow long,
Yet your shadow lingers near,
A whisper in the wind’s soft song,
A echo I can almost hear.
Do you feel it too, that pull,
Or has it faded, lost to fear? I walk the paths we used to roam,
Through fields of green, now turned to gray,
Each step a memory set in stone,
Each stone a price I still must pay.
The world has changed, and so have I,
Yet part of me remains that day. Yet, even now, I cannot cut
The final thread that binds us still.
For in the quilt of all I am,
Your name remains, a stubborn stain,
A mark of love that won’t erase,
A ghost that lingers in the grain. So I fold it neat, tuck it away,
In the chest of things I cannot say.
And though I know the door is shut,
And though I know the key is lost,
I’ll keep this quilt, though worn and thin,
A testament to what has been.