She can live,
Without him.
Like she did before,
Without another him.
And the one,
Who is about to come.
No one dies,
When someone leaves.
Parents survive,
When the children grieve.
And children divide,
When the parents leave.
The affairs evolve,
And companions are swapped.
Life partners are changed,
While tracks in the park, remains the same.
With the autumn’s death of flowers,
The grass stays and prevails.
But deep within,
Within the empty homes,
in the dark nights,
In between the vessels around the heart,
There is an absent voice.
A void.
A missing whisper.
A missing heartbeat.
While the life walks and breathes.
Its finesse diminishes.
The moments it could have embraced,
Become the moments it could never attain.
Yet, no one dies.
Except a voice.
A whisper.
A beat.
And a void.
