Eclipsed by Your Light

All night I sit beside the cup You left half-empty, growing cold— The jasmine scent still rises up From tea we shared like amber wine. My fingers trace the ring you made On wood where breath left ghostly marks. This ghost-pressed circle will not fade, Though you dissolved in summer dark. I press your sweater to my face And breathe the orange blossom air That lived inside each soft embrace— Now curled beneath my ribs like prayer. The radiator clicks and hums The rhythm of your sleeping breath. My pulse recalls how evening comes In waves that pull me close to death. Outside, the city learns to wake While I unlearn the weight of you— Each dawn another vow to break, Each dusk another promise new. What madness keeps me counting stairs You climbed just once to reach my door? I’ve memorized the way you wear Silence like a dress I tore. But here’s the crack in my defense: Love doesn’t end—it leaves its trace, Like fingerprints on window glass, Invisible in morning’s grace. Tonight I let the jasmine fade— This house can keep what we once made. I’ll wash the sheets of memory’s thread And learn to live with rain instead. The morning spills across my floor Where shadows held your shape to me. Some ghosts remain forevermore, Some doors stay cracked and set us free.