What the Wind Remembers

We were always
meant to vanish.

That was the shape
of the road before us—
not a cliff,
just a slow narrowing
until there was
nowhere left
to walk.

But oh,
how we loved along the way.
Soft and trembling.
Uncertain.
Like maybe wanting
was enough
to change the ending.

We held hands
like lifelines.
Danced in rooms
not meant for dancing.
Told stories
as if telling them
made them true.

And when we cried,
we cried quietly.
Because the world
doesn’t stop
for sorrow
that was scheduled.

There were fields,
I remember.
They meant nothing
to anyone
but us.
And in them,
we believed—
for one heartbeat—
that our lives
were ours.

We are gone now.
But the wind
still touches
the tall grass
like it knows
our names.