Longing is the morning rain
falling without a sound
slipping through the mist
chilling the damp leaves
at the tip of an old branch
It never knocks at the door
just appears uninvited
leaving faint traces
in every beat of a trembling heart
turning silence into poetry
In a vast unfamiliar time
longing becomes a fog
covering every memory
blurring the distance and places
we never walked together
Yet it quietly stays rooted
like an old tree waiting
on an empty path
where our steps
will never meet
