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Midnight

At times he would run
across the midnight landscape
beneath the shining moon,
the wind whipping through his hair,
like a ghost wrapped in silver and dark.

He could not outrun the emptiness in his heart.

Some nights, he would stand there,
blanketed by the midnight
and remember her smile, and her fragrance,
and how she let him touch her,
and how she felt in his arms,
and how she calmed his heart
and how he let her go to those she needed more.

The darkness would whisper, “You did the right thing.”

Sometimes, he would gaze
at the midnight stars that she loved to watch
and he would feel a connection
across the void of years,
like the faintest touch of her aura,
like the whisper of hope he dare not put into words.

Something within him knew he was not waiting in vain.