Where Even the Wind Is Silent

You ask – and the night quietly halts its pace.
I tear the black fabric from it,
To sew a shirt from its depths.
You put it on – and it falls along the seam,
Like my fingers on your skin.

The world crumbles in the cracks
Of your gaze…
But you are not afraid.
You remember: at the end of all roads
I stand, tucking behind my ear
Your name instead of a last cigarette.

Where my blood is – there is your tea.
Where your breath is – there is my grave.
We have confused life and death.
But it is nothing to fear…
For in your movement – there is my prayer,
And in my fall – there is your shadow.

Now tell me:
Was this just a coincidence?
No.
This is us repeating the Universe.
Again. And again.