Rasputin

I remember a tale, Far to the east, In the cold empire, A plan was produced,

Dedicated to someone very special.

In your wake, you will realize all of your efforts have been futile.

Why not instead go back to your deserving hedonistic dance?

I need to know how and when you will realize your own actions have been in vain.

For I am the voyeurist that you so abhore.

Five years

Five Years.

Five years, and I still trace the shape of your presence— the way your fingers dance along the rim of a glass, the quiet rhythm of your breath when the world is still. You hum when you think, a sound softer than silence, and I have memorized every note.

Salt air clinging to our skin, laughter slipping between waves as we walked. You pointed to the stars as if they belonged to us, as if the sky had always known our names.

Italy woke beneath golden light, our footsteps weaving through streets older than memory. You reached for my hand without thinking, as if it had always belonged in yours.

Now, the kitchen glows in the hush of evening, the warmth of oil and spice rising between us. You stir the pot, I set the table— a quiet harmony, a life built in gestures. I watch you, I listen, I learn you. And after all this time, I love you still.

@nyben0001 Thank you for the poem request! :-)