do you remember those nights, 14 years ago, when you taught me the lyre? I can still hear the soft baritone of your voice as you explained the chords and tones to me. I can still feel your hands on mine, correcting my placement.
Our love did not have seasons— we were too mercurial to be compared to something so inevitable.
But those nights were a quiet moment of reprieve between monsoons.
whenever you sang, the rich timbre of your voice would resonate within my chest. You taught me to harmonize, your strong voice pushing mine forward, blending them into something beautiful.
Alone, my voice feels hollow. It feels weak— thin, like red wine cut with water.
I do not sing, now that you are gone.
I could only ever sing with you.
Maybe one day, I’ll forgive you for taking my songs from me, my love.
I hope when that day comes, wherever you are, you can forgive me for cutting the songs from your throat.