Quiet Hour

Once, his words were lanterns - 
Soft flames drifting toward me,
Lightning corners I didn't know were dark.
Laughter moved like music,
And the air was warm with maybe.

Now, the melody falters - 
He steps back,
And silence grows strong
I watch the spaces widen,
A quiet ocean
Where no bridge will hold.

The thought lingers - 
A fragile petal pressed between pages
What if he asked?
It blooms for a breath,
Then folds beneath the weight of hope.

Another voice - 
Stern, unyielding
Says "forget"
But forgetting feels like tearing silk,
And the threads catch on everything.

So, I wonder this corridor of almost
Doors locked on both ends:
One marked wish,
The other release.
Neither opens.
Only echoes remain,
And every echo sounds like his name.