Lake

The  bicycle’s  path  lingers,  
your  arms,  a  soft  prayer  around  my  waist,  
the  morning  breeze  still  carrying  
the  last  note  of  our  shared  hymn.  

By  the  lake,  we  paused,  
hands  almost  brushing,  
a  question  suspended  between  us,  
unspoken,  yet  heavy  as  the  moon.  

Your  laughter,  bright  as  pomegranate  seeds,  
still  lingers  in  the  curve  of  my  smile,  
though  it  feels  lighter  now,  
like  sunlight  slipping  through  winter’s  bare  fingers.  

You  taught  me  to  lift  my  chin,  
your  hands  firm,  your  voice  a  quiet  river,  
and  I  laughed,  never  imagining  
I’d  ache  for  the  way  you  murmured,  
“Just  like  that.”  

Now,  the  road  stretches  empty,  
the  hum  of  your  absence  louder  than  the  song  we  once  knew.  
I  ride  on,  carrying  the  weight  of  your  shadow,  
a  ghost  pedaling  beside  me,  
whispering,  “Just  like  that.”