81 Octobers,
each one a chapter,
written in the quiet rhythm
of time you filled with love,
even when words were few.
A life woven through soft mornings
and the steady hum of days,
you taught me how to walk,
even as you were slowly leaving.
Your hands once held so much—
now they rest, forever,
still warm in the memory of care.
I wanted you to see another birthday,
just one more to cradle in your heart.
But the seasons slipped away too fast,
I saw it in the way you moved,
the way your eyes searched for peace.
for relief.
Still, I hoped—
even when the leaves were telling me
you wouldn't see them fall.
81 Octobers.
81 Revolutions.
each one more precious than the last,
yet none as precious
as those fragile moments,
where time bent,
and I sat beside you,
even as you slipped through the spaces
we could not mend.
You didn't make it to the next dawn,
but you are already eternal,
in every smile I carry,
in every part of me that loves
because of you.
