The fear is a quiet drum,
a slow, relentless beat
at the edge of every thought—
that I am losing you,
and with each passing moment,
the gap widens like a canyon
etched by an unseen hand.

I trace your shadow
in the fading light of dusk,
each silhouette a reminder
that what is held so dearly
can slip through the fingers
of time’s unyielding current.

I hold onto the memory
of your laughter,
the warmth in your eyes,
as if by naming these fragments
I might trap you within them,
against the certainty of absence.

Yet the night whispers
that loss is inevitable,
an echo waiting in the wings,
and my heart trembles
at the thought that this fear,
this aching dread,
will one day stand true.

Still, I cling to you,
to the solace of your touch,
hoping that love can defy
the cold calculus of fate—
even as I fear
the moment when your light
fades into the distance,
leaving me alone
with the silence of what was.