Tonight, I Want to Write My Saddest Lines

tonight, i want to write my saddest lines,
but i will quell the tides of this storm
that stirs the peace and quiet of my heart.
this typhoon now has a name—
a name i have seen many moons ago,
but i purposely kept my blindfold on,
not to be blinded, but to keep
the tears from falling like rain.

tonight, i want to write my saddest lines,
because i saw you once,
framed in someone else’s light,
and for a moment, grief tried to rise—
but it found no harbor, no storm to cling to.
i have made peace with your new beginning,
the way stars make peace with the dark.

tonight, i want to write my saddest lines,
but the shadows no longer listen to sorrow.
they hum of quiet courage,
of how the heart, though bruised, still beats.
i have seen your shadow drift away from mine,
and though the distance has learned your name,
i no longer chase its echo.

tonight, i want to write my saddest lines,
but the night refuses to weep with me.
the stars lean close, whispering: go on.
for even love lost has its afterglow—
a faint warmth lingering on the palms
that once held another’s face.
your name still hums in my chest,
but softer now, like a tide at rest.
and though another heart now keeps your laughter,
i will not drown in remembering.

tonight, i want to write my saddest line,
but my heart, weary as it is,
beats a softer truth—
that the sea, too, forgives the storm
that leaves it restless.
so i will not curse the wind for changing course,
nor mourn the moon for lighting other seas.
there is peace in letting go,
in watching the tide retreat
without chasing after what it takes.

so tonight, i will not write my saddest lines.
instead, i will write of mornings—
of how even restless seas
remember the calm of light.