Where do poems go when you lose them?
Blurred by tears,
Swept out to sea,
Past sharp rocks,
Found by lonely fishermen,
Their fingers tracing waves.

It was the last night,
Lying on my bed.
We stared at the ceiling,
Knowing he would be gone,
The next morning.

Life would start again.

I started to cry,
Profoundly sad.

It wasn't all for him,
But for everything that doesn't work out,
Because we are getting older.

I love you.
I love you.

You are my past.