81 Octobers

 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 now, as you are slowly leaving.

Your hands once held so much—

now they rest, tired,

but still warm with the memory of care.

I wanted you to see another birthday,

just one more to cradle in your heart.

But the seasons are slipping away too fast,

and I see it in the way you move,

the way your eyes search for peace.

Still, I hope—

even when the leaves are telling me

you may not see them fall.

81 Octobers—

each one more precious than the last,

yet none as precious

as this fragile moment,

where time bends,

and I hold onto you,

even as you slip through the spaces

we cannot mend.

You may not 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.