I am eclipsed by regret:

I meant to tell you
grey is my favourite color,

and your coarse, ashen fur,
the scar beneath it on your chest,

reminds me of my father.
He is gone now

and I am no longer young,
but your searching, viridian eyes,

the way you hesitate

to say certain things aloud,
makes me smile in a way

I haven't felt in years.
And I do not understand

where this radiance comes from
when all that's familiar has passed

into night.




Penned by my hand on the 15th of Sarapin, in the year 471 AF.