"lighthouse "pt¹

I'll wait for all your letters," I whispered, my dear, as the wind curled your voice into my ear, soft as the melodies you once spun across my skin. By the window I sit, where moonlight weaves silver dreams, where my hand pens yet another aching letter, each word soaked in love, each sigh a thread tying me back to you. Though the world screams with the fury of war, my heart softens with the thought of you, a lullaby humming against the broken glass of night. They call you brave, fearless, a soldier who dances with death without blinking — but to me, you are the poetry stitched into my soul, in a world where all songs have died. Where screams are the only music, and peace is only a memory.