Still In My Ink Poem by Milo .

It's hard to turn the page when your name is pressed between every line,
When every chapter starts with a memory of your smile,
But always ends with the silence you left behind.

We almost had a lifetime,
That word, the one word.
Almost.
It cuts so much sharper, deeper than any goodbye.
We dreamed in paragraphs and so many always,
We wrote love letters and whispered meanings,
And we made promises we wanted to keep.
But death does not edit gently,
It tears pages from stories without warning.
Ending ours with no remorse,
Breaking our promises, nothing less and nothing more.

You were my prologue,
My rising action,
My heartbeat in every moment.
Now I hold my pen with shaking hands,
Wondering how to write a sentence,
Without you as my man.

They say the story must go on.
But how could I possibly move on when the best part has already been lost?
How could I move on when my whole future stopped in my past?
When the narrator falls quiet because their favourite character has vanished mid-sentence?

And still.
Still you're in the margins of my every day.
You linger in the pause between my thoughts,
In the way I laugh a little softer,
Or cry a little longer.
At things only you would've understood.
You are not in my plot anymore,
But you are my ink.
You are the weight in every word that I try to write without you.

And so yet I turn the page,
Slowly.
Not to forget, but because I must.
Because my story isn't finished,
Even if you aren't in it anymore.
You were my first chapter of love,
And though you won't appear in the next,
Your name will echo in every chapter to follow.

Yet, it's still hard to turn the page,
But I do.
For you,
Because of you,
And somehow,
I'm still with you.