If I Am Gone By Morning

If I am gone by morning—
if the moon folds its silver limbs
and slips silently beneath the veil
before I’ve kissed you one last time—
know this:

There was never a version of this life
where I did not choose you.

Not even in the infinite branches
of possibility—
where fate dances with free will
and time sways, unpinned—
was there a single heartbeat
where I would not have turned toward
the constellation of us.

Know that you were not
my second chance,
but the culmination
of every sacred ache.
You were not the detour
but the destination.
Not a chapter—
the whole damn epic.

If I am gone before the sun
lifts the lid off the earth again,
let the morning find you soft
and stubborn with grief,
but let it find you living.
Because love like ours
was never meant to petrify—
it was designed to echo.

You will see me
in the periphery of dusk,
in the specific green
of spring’s first blade,
in the laugh that escapes you
without permission.

You will feel me
in the silence after your name,
in the weightless way
your heart still answers
without being called.

Grieve me,
but do not shrink.
I did not love you
to see you diminished.

My God,
you were the oxygen
that turned survival
into symphony.

And though my breath
may vanish from this earth,
know it does not abandon you—
it wraps around you,
transfigured into wind,
into witness.

If I am gone by morning,
carry the knowledge
that I loved you deliberately—
with every scar and syllable,
with the precision of devotion
and the ferocity of forever.

I would have stayed,
if time allowed.
But since it did not,
let me remain
in every moment
you still choose joy.

Keep My Words Alive

If this poem has stayed with you, you can help keep my words alive or explore more of my work. Every bit of support helps carry the stories forward.