Just five years ago, we met in the park.
A cool autumn night, just before dark.
We talked into the night, of the things we had seen,
the sun rose soon after, the sky glowing green.

Just four years ago, we had our first date.
Great first impression, I was half an hour late.
I was so nervous, these memories ephemeral,
Your smile was so wide, your eyes glowed like emeralds.

Just three years ago, we’d been dating a year.
You were my darling, and I was your dear.
I couldn’t get over how lucky I’d been,
but things aren’t always good, under the skin.

Just two years ago, you moved into my place.
Being with you was great, though a bit tight on space.
Six months after that, I dropped to one knee,
the day you agreed that you’d marry me.

Just one year ago the diagnosis came in.
A large tumor, far beneath the skin.
You cried and you screamed and you called it unfair,
I lost no love for you, as you lost your hair.

Slowly but surely you withered away.
We never were sure if you’d make the next day.
There was no way to help you, they did all they could,
everyday, by your bedside, I stood.

Just ten minutes ago, they called me and said.
I needed to see you, your life on a thread.
I sped through the traffic, I ran to your bed,
but when I arrived, you were already dead.