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In the fading fragrance of a lone drop of lavender at the edge of the pillow of the love of my life

In the tender crook of his wobbly arms

In the black corduroy case my fingers sew for his flute

In the back seat of the silver cab that he took when he left me standing alone that night, one last time

In his ambiguous replies that always concealed something and revealed nothing

In the moon light that touches our faces, at once closing the gap between us albeit only in distance

In the flame of the dying moment he stood apart, never trying to bring us closer

In the togetherness that went unattained

In the glowing embers of my heart that never stops loving him, no matter what

In the glimmer of a single strand of silver hair coiled in my mother’s yellow comb

In…