The Old Road, Now Only Me and the Memories Left

We spoke of mornings soft with golden light,

of a small house facing where the sun would rise,

a tree we’d plant together at the gate,

two cats that’d curl beneath the evening skies.

You said: “Look in my eyes, and you will see

your old age, walking right here, next to me.”

No grand vows, no rings that shine too bright —

just all the warmth my heart could ever want,

a quiet promise that felt more than right,

that every step we took, we’d walk as one.

The world felt wide, but never once too far —

for I held your hand, and you held mine,

and every road led back to where we are,

and every dream had your name in its design.

I always saved a space for you, you see —

a half of everything, a place to be,

as if our souls were stitched along the seam,

and you were home, and you were all my dream.

Then one day, without a shout or fight,

without harsh words or tears that storm and fall,

we understood that roads must split and part —

the mind knows why, the heart still breaks it all.

You walked away — but oh, you left so much:

you left the future that we drew as one,

the house, the tree, the morning’s gentle hush,

every tomorrow we had just begun.

I still go look at that small house today,

I plant the tree exactly where we said,

I set two mugs upon the wooden tray —

then slowly put one down, and turn my head.

For there is no one sitting there to drink,

no one to laugh, no one to hear me speak.

And half of me still smiles at what we had —

how bright you burned, how beautiful and true —

while the other half breaks, quiet and sad,

knowing I walk these dreams without you now.

It does not come in waves that crash and roar —

this missing you. It comes in quiet things:

a song we sang, a shop we stepped inside before,

the sound of rain that soft and slowly sings.

Each little piece, a memory that remains —

the best of what we were, and what we’d be.

I do not regret a single beat, a single breath,

of every moment that I shared with you.

I only grieve the one sharp, quiet truth:

that all these victories, I will not share with you.

No anger burns where once our love resided,

no bitterness where we once laid our trust —

just gentle understanding, deep and wide,

and love that stays, though we have turned to dust.

I love you still — the kindest way I know:

I’ll not disturb your peace, I’ll not ask why,

I’ll keep you safe where precious memories grow,

a quiet star within my evening sky.

Thank you for being my destination, my home, my all.

Forgive me now… I must walk on, though you do not come at all.