If tomorrow doesn’t come
and the sun refuses to rise,
will you still search for me
with those gentle, grieving eyes?
Will you remember the afternoons
we held hands in golden silence,
the quiet love that bloomed between us—
a small world, soft and timeless?
If I slip into the darkness,
if night should steal my breath,
will you still feel me linger
in the hollows left by death?
Will you recall our skin warmed by the sun,
how time would softly drift and bend,
how within us we found peace
when existence forgot us in the end?
If tomorrow doesn’t come
and the moon forgets to set,
will you still whisper my name
when the quiet grows too heavy yet?
When the Earth keeps turning on
and I am nowhere to be found,
will my memory still surround you,
or will I simply fade into the ground?