Love bled through us like moonlight,
silver-soft but never ours to keep,
a fleeting shimmer on quiet skin,
dimming before we learned its shape.
Your name still tastes like longing,
a syllable caught between my teeth,
spoken to the walls that don’t echo back,
swallowed before it turns to grief.
Memories bloom like dying roses,
petals bruised by time’s cruel hands,
beauty aching in its last breath,
wilting where we once stood tall.
I trace the past in empty spaces,
where laughter once carved its place,
but ghosts make poor lovers—
and shadows never stay.
We were a sunset too beautiful to last.
-Aanchal Vachhani
