The Window By The Mango Tree
There was a window by the mango tree,
facing west, where sunlight spilled like secrets.
That’s where I waited,
where I last saw you—
not waving, just walking.
The curtains danced even when the wind was still.
They remembered your scent
better than I did.
I tried to forget the taste of afternoons
without your laugh in the hallway.
Tried to unhear the sound
of your keys…
not returning.
The mango tree grew quiet,
like it, too, was grieving.
Its fruits fell without reason—
like how people leave
without explanation.
Even now,
I pass that window
and forget to breathe.
This is how I remember it:
Not with fireworks or music,
but with silence,
and the ghost of your footsteps
fading into the floorboards
of a house
that no longer knows your name.
Copyright © Juvy Cirujano | Year Posted 2025
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