The pain she bore soared past the skies—
A silent storm of anguish,
An endless ache of anxious nights,
A river of sorrow
Etching wounds too deep for her soul to seal.

By day, by night, she longed—
Not for riches, nor for fame,
But for a hand, a voice, a gaze
To break the hush of loneliness.

Her mind, a drum of ceaseless ache,
Beating with the weight of absence.
Words, so often spoken, failed her.
What she sought was not in praises,
But in presence—
A smile, a laugh,
A touch that said, I see you.

She hungered and thirst for those echoes of love,
Yet they drifted,
Distant as fading dreams.
Oh, who can deny the power
Of hearts that truly meet?

She yearned for a love
Unmeasured, unconditional—
Born not of want,
But of reflection,
A mirror of the Divine.

But love betrayed her lips and lingered
Far from those she gave her heart.
Each passing day
Her sorrow deepened in quiet rooms—
A burden too heavy,
A wound too silent.

Time, that thief, moved swiftly.
Moments vanished
Like the shimmer of morning stars.
And when her breath dissolved into silence,
She lay still—
Finally untouched by ache.

Then they came.
Songs filled the air,
Melodious epistle,
Soft tears watered the earth.
Words flowed—
The same sweet words she once waited for,
Now poured out
To ears that could no longer hear.

If only they had known:
Healing does not always come in pills or prayers.
Sometimes, it lives in eye contact,
In a hand held tight,
In the warmth of saying, I'm here.

So love—while you can.
Touch, when touch is needed.
Speak the softness your heart holds.
Visit often.
For we breathe borrowed air,
And time never waits for us.