underneath the pale blue light,
your ringtone still plays at midnight.
a frozen mug by the window sill,
the cuff of your sweater, threadbare and chill.
lipstick on a napkin, two train tickets bent,
the scar where your necklace caught and never mended.
i breathe the room like a distant song,
soft and small — i've been holding on too long.
my breath is thin.
heart gathers, climbs.
memories spool up, spill and lift me toward the sound of goodbye.
this is winter’s last goodbye — the mug you left, frozen on the sill,
a paper crane folded from our tickets, trembling on the sill.
soaring high notes split the quiet, falsettos break like glass,
i let the held-back music go; i let the moments pass.
layered voices, soft goodbyes, echoes braided with the night,
cold air wraps my shoulders tight, then hands me back my light.
i rise — a final high, a released and honest cry,
this is winter’s last goodbye.
keys rattle in a pocket you taught me to ignore,
a last text at 2:14, the timestamp tacked to the floor.
reverb piano paints the shape of where you used to stand,
distant hums like empty rooms — i learn to hold my hand.
the streetlamp writes our shadow slow across the wet pavement seam,
my step matches none of yours; i break from every seam.
my breath is thin.
heart pulls, then rises.
memories spool up, spill and lift me toward the sound of goodbye.
this is winter’s last goodbye — the mug you left, frozen on the sill,
a paper crane folded from our tickets, trembling on the sill.
soaring high notes split the quiet, falsettos break like glass,
i let the held-back music go; i let the moments pass.
layered voices, soft goodbyes, echoes braided with the night,
cold air wraps my shoulders tight, then hands me back my light.
i rise — a final high, a released and honest cry,
this is winter’s last goodbye.
i kept the spare key in a shoebox, underneath a shirt i never wore,
kept the bar receipt with our names, kept the ring you said was folklore.
i admit i answered once more when your voicemail sounded like a lie—
i pressed replay until the ribbon frayed, till even faith ran dry.
i wore your silence like a second skin, stitched seams of soft regret,
i learned the grammar of goodbye: how to breathe, how to forget.
one honest thing — i saved your sweater 'cause the cuff still smelled like home,
but i burned that little map of us, watched it curl and go alone.
this is winter’s last goodbye — the mug you left, frozen on the sill,
a paper crane folded from our tickets, trembling on the sill.
tonight i belt the melody, let stacked falsettos bloom above,
whispered doubles in the tails, ad-libs like constellations of our love.
layered voices, soft goodbyes, echoes braided with the night,
cold air lifts the weight in me and turns it into flight.
i climb — the final high, the note that breaks and then is free,
this is winter’s last goodbye.
b
