We are at a café we often visit, sitting across from each other, the same way we always do. She loves their cinnamon biscuits, the kind that crumbles at the touch but melts in your mouth with warmth. She always saves the last one for later, wrapping it in a tissue and slipping it into her bag.

Today, she does the same. But as she reaches for her bag, it tips slightly, and the biscuit drops. A tiny crack runs through it. She sighs, about to leave it, but I pick it up, carefully brushing off invisible crumbs, and hand it back.

"Still good," I say.

She looks at me, amused, and shakes her head before tucking it away again.

I don’t know why I remember that moment so much. Maybe because it was just like us—delicate but still holding together.

Months later, I’m searching for something in the backseat of my car when I find it. A tiny, forgotten bundle of tissue paper tucked between the seats. The biscuit. The one she saved that day.

She isn’t here anymore. Not in this car, not in my life. But the biscuit is. A fragile piece of something that once was.

I hold it in my palm for a moment, then unwrap it gently. It's crumbled now, beyond saving. But I don’t throw it away. Not yet. Instead, I close my fist around it, just for a second, before letting it slip between my fingers.

Some things aren’t meant to last forever. But that doesn’t mean they weren’t once whole.

The heavens tremble, in love’s gentle glow,
As the heart’s forgotten space begins to grow.

No words are needed, nor brush to impart,
For love lives in the deepest part of the heart.

So drink of its essence, let it rise and soar,
In every breath, in every pore.

For when love is known, the soul finds its rest,
In its tender hold, we are truly blest.

She stands in a glow of soft, silent light,
wrapped in whispers of ivory white.
A fleeting moment—pure, divine,
as time itself forgets to chime.

A stray strand dances against her cheek,
brushing her skin, gentle and meek.
With fingertips light as a feather’s sigh,
she tucks it back—oh, my heart replies.

The world dissolves, blurred and still,
lost in the warmth of a smile so real.
Grace in motion, effortless, free,
a vision that lingers, haunting me.

And oh, that white—soft as a dream,
a moonlit wish, a silent theme.
If only she knew, if only she guessed,
how beauty lived in that one small jest.