My bones caught a chill,

And I felt my quill still.

It was then,

That I noticed the frosted window sill.

You had gone,

Leaving my window wide open to the November breeze,

That had come to steal my words unspoken.

The last autumn leaf fell,

And a chilly November turned brutal,

Dreary December.

Ice crept over my quill,

And the wind’s sharp shrill

Told me I could surrender—

But my mind wouldn’t still.

In soft candlelight’s hue,

I stumbled,

Ignoring your shadows

As they rose into view.

My quill stuck on the same blank page.

I knew if stayed in this cage,

There would be nothing to write.

Through the window,

A green light glowed,

Illuminating the night.

I knew in my gut

Something was not quite right.

A sob caught in my throat;

I tried not to choke.

When the window wouldn’t close,

I knew this wasn’t a hoax.

Your silent diparture haunts me nonstop.

I climbed to the ledge;

Let this be my silent revenge.

Waves on the rocks,

The tick tock of the clock,

Striking 12 o’clock sharp.

Memories crowd my head—

Your lips, cherry red,

My grief soaked through the bed.

I didn’t want to live if you were dead.

My quill began to slip,

And with a white-knuckled grip,

I held tight.

Not a single scream from my lips.

A snap, a crack—

My quill was stolen by the dark abyss.

That’s when I knew,

This sad truth:

I, like you,

I would be lost to the quiet dark,

Neither one of us ever leaving a mark.