I wear gold, and you wore silver;
all my memories seem to linger.

My hair is blonde, and yours was black;
at times, I thought that we had luck.

You loved the night; I preferred the morning.
Now all that remains is me here, mourning.

You were my silence, even though you sang;
for months, I would wait for you—and hang.

And once, I wrote what I left unspoken,
a ray of sunlight through what seemed broken.

Poems found me when the whole world was gone,
and you gave me your last kiss at dawn.