loneliness

He stands on the cliff’s edge,
salt-kissed and hollow-eyed.

The wind, a relentless lover, tugs at his coat,
whispers secrets of distant shores.

Below, the ocean churns—
a tempest of memories.
Each wave carries her laughter,
the cadence of her name.

He reaches for her phantom hand,
fingers grazing air.
Ancient trees sway,
their silver leaves rustling like ancient parchment.
Their trunks, scarred by time, bear witness to his ache.

He imagines her there—
amongst the trees—
her scent lingering,
a ghostly promise.

The sun, a molten coin,
sinks into the horizon,
casting shadows that mimic their tangled limbs.

In this vastness,
he searches for her footprints.
They should be etched in sand,
but the tide erases all evidence.

Still, he follows invisible trails—
the way she danced on moonlit nights,
her laughter echoing against cliffs.

The gulls, raucous and unyielding,
mock his longing.
The stars emerge,
pinpricks in the velvet sky.

He wonders if she’s become one—
a celestial wanderer, untethered.
Perhaps she whispers to the Southern Cross,
confides in Orion.

He lifts his face,
willing her presence.
But the night holds its secrets,
and he is left with echoes—
of love, of loss.