Where I No Longer Breathe

The taste of cherries on your lips, it still lives on the edge of my tongue. I remember it all. Your warm breath in velvet sleep, dancing across my skin like a secret breeze no longer meant for me. The scent of your hair, baptized in spring blossoms, still lingers in the air I no longer breathe. Your eyes, where twilight used to collapse into color. Your cheeks, once the resting place of my lips, still burn in memory. The music of your heart, that soft, cotton rhythm once played against my face, as if promising I’d always return. I remember our shared dream, a house by the sea, with blue windows and salt in the wind. We spoke of forever. But forever did not wait. A bullet came before morning could. And now, only a handful of dirt lays between my silence and your name.