You stood beneath the station light,
the kind that softens into blue.
Your hair was damp from rising rain,
your hands unsure of what to do.
I watched you move but not let go,
a breath away, yet far from home.
There’s something cruel in parting slow—
we lost the words, we left alone.
The train exhaled, the silence stayed,
You turned your face, but you never waved.
© Copyright 2025 - Limes Carma
