A glimpse

Do you remember the morning dew,
the fragile kisses on my forehead,
the scent of henna in her hair,
the medication on every table?

I lay beside her, wondering what I could do—
a cup of water, a cover to keep her warm,
a whispered word to ease the pain.
But every thought vanished when you walked in.

Gasps of breath, the shivers, the cramps,
her shifting on the bed at the sound of your steps.
Her eyes dimmed, her soul slipped away,
and the room grew colder as all warmth escaped.

The colors faded—
even the sun turned its face from you.
They spoke, but you stole their voices too.
There was silence—
then I heard you,
and I could no longer bear the sound of you.

I wandered from room to room, house to house,
but you followed, relentless.
You tore them from me, left nothing but shells,
and as life recoiled from you, so did I.

I pitied you. I hated you. I loved you. I played with you.
You toyed with me, and we met again and again—
face to face, eye to eye—
until you let me go.
And still, I longed for you once more.

You traveled the world, from the ocean’s depths
to the peaks of mountains,
always present, always near.
And when I called for you, you came,
with frozen kisses and tender hands.
You always came.

We are lovers, Death and I.
We know each other better than the sun knows the light,
better than the night knows the stars,
better than the soul knows the body.
I love you, hate you, crave you.
This courtship is poison.

You are jealous, my beloved Death,
jealous of love and lovers alike.
You tore Romeo from his Juliet,
Esmeralda from Quasimodo.
Had they loved you instead,
they would have lived an eternity.

Anguish is your name.
I called to you in my pain,
longing like a child for a mother’s arms.
But you, in your cruelty, whispered—
"Not yet, my beloved."
And now, I hardly know you anymore.