The Words That Outlived Her

I built altars of language for her, every beautiful a brick,  every promise a stone, until my tongue crumbled to dust, in the cathedral of my wanting.  Then she, my always-echo,  she who knew my voice would fail,  looked through me like tomorrow didn't exist (and for her, it didn't),  and sealed my heart with:  *"Baby, wallahi, ina sonka."*  The sky did crack.  The stars did burn.  And when they carried her away,  her voice stayed, a shard of light, lodged in the marrow of my bones,  still beating...  still longing...  long after her breath became the wind.  (Her voice is the wind now, And the wind never stops.)  Now I wear silence like a shroud.  The world shouts in her absence.  But when night presses its ear to my chest,  I let the dark hear it too:  *echoing... *echoing... not memory,  not ghost,  just love, Refusing to become past tense. 26th February, 2025 @Abbateewrites