The moon is still silver.

illustration by Duy Huynh

I meant to tell you 
the moon is still silver.
It still rises same as it used to rise,
shedding light onto cities and lands
softened by the coming of night.

I meant to tell you that I still gaze up,
same as when you were here, 
and that in the stillest of hours
while carrying a heart 
as wide as the sea,
if I soak in that moon, 
it may bring some relief.

I meant to tell you that
I still taste your song in me. 
It comes in waves
under silent skies,
It threatens my sanity. 

How you came and you went 
long before I could tell you
I didn't want you 
to leave.

But you did.
And the moon is still silver.

So here I stand 
left with echos
of us 
And those nights
that used 
to breathe.