It begins with her eyes, wells of dreams
It begins with her eyes, wells of dreams, doesn't it?
Not by the way they shine in the starlight,
but by the way they overflow, betraying gravity,
each tear falling like forgotten stars.
And you are there, a shadow of a lost man,
with hands that cannot touch without trembling,
a voice that falls apart before it can whisper comfort.
Her shoulders shake, like a silent hurricane,
a vortex that sweeps away everything steady and sure,
everything you thought you had woven for her from promises.
And you stand, a tree in the storm, unmoved,
frozen roots, powerless, without strength,
while the wind tears her soul away like a leaf.
Your words stumble over fears and regrets,
because what could they truly say?
Her sobs do not just sound, they invade,
a battle cry for a lost fight.
You reach out, but the distance between you is not just air,
it's denser, a chasm carved from inadequacies.
You think of all the promises you forged,
and how you were sure they would be enough to protect her.
But promises do not heal, they are not walls,
and now, they are only fragile memories trampled by tears.
There's no need for her to say it, she doesn't have to,
you see it in her trembling hands, searching for answers.
You have never felt smaller, a grain of sand,
watching her crumble while you remain powerless,
a statue, a monument to the ways you have failed.
You wonder if she hates you for this, for your impotence,
if she will remember you as the one who stood useless,
while her world collapsed under the weight of pain.
But does it matter? What you feel cannot matter,
her tears burn hotter than any remorse.
You would give everything, everything, just to see her smile again,
and so you try with desperation, a child with fragile fingers.
You try to tell her you are here, that you are not leaving,
but the words drown, knowing she deserves more.
"There is no worse feeling," you think,
than watching her break and realizing,
that you are not a hero, just a man too small to save her.
But still, you whisper, half to her, half to yourself:
"Don’t cry alone. If I can’t save you,
at least let me drown beside you."
Copyright ©
Dan Enache
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