In our old tree house, shadows dance,

Whispers of laughter, lost in chance.

The sunlight filters through the leaves,

A beacon for the heart that grieves.

Wherever there is light, the flowers will find it,

You said, your voice a gentle chime.

Now I'm here alone, our secret hideout,

Clinging to echoes from another time.

I trace your name in dusty corners,

Each letter a pang, a silent mourner.

The branches creak like your soft giggles,

As if they feel my heart’s faint jiggles.

Our memories bloom like morning glories,

In this sanctuary, we wrote our stories.

But now the light feels cold and distant,

A reminder of dreams now nonexistent.

I close my eyes and hear your whispers,

Feel the touch of your hand, faint, like whiskers.

In the golden beams, your face appears,

Your smile breaking through my fears.

You promised me that flowers would find light,

Even in the darkest, starless night.

So I hold on to that flicker, bright,

Hoping it will make everything right.

For in this place, our sacred tree house,

Love lingers, a silent spouse.

And though you're gone, I feel you near,

In every beam of light, so clear.

Wherever there is the light, the flowers will find it,

You remind me, even as I sit.

And in this glow, I find my strength,

To face each day, to go the length.

Your spirit soars with every dawn,

A flower in the light, never truly gone.

And in this tree house, I’ll wait and see,

The light you left, still guiding me.