"You gave me a forever within the numbered days, and I'm grateful." — The Fault in Our Stars
Beneath the sky of misty gray,
He met her on a sweet summer day.
She laughed like it lit the air,
A gaze too wild for earth to bear.
They walked through the fields where poppies bled,
She braided flowers around his head.
"Promise me," she whispered, soft but clear,
"That you will stay when I'm not here."
He kissed her hand and swore it true,
His heart was young, the world was new.
He dreamt of homes and his children's names,
Of winters spent by cozy flames.
But time can be a wicked thief,
It carved out his heart with pain and grief.
Her lips grew pale, her smile turned thin,
The sickness followed her from within.
He prayed at night, he cursed the pain,
He offered up his life in vain.
The doctors came, the priests had lied,
No remedy for death's dark side.
She held his hand through final breath,
And whispered love to quiet death.
Her eyes half-closed, the last thing seen
The boy who swore she was his queen.
The house grew cold, the bed stayed bare,
Her scarf still draped across the chair.
He lived alone, year after year,
But never let another near.
The village talked, as old folks do,
"Why won't he love? He's young, he's new."
But he just smiled, his eyes were dim,
For all his dreams were buried with her and him.
Years piled on like autumn leaves,
He wore her locket on his sleeve.
He'd sit at night beneath the pine,
And tell the stars, "One day you're mine."
And when at last death's music played,
He closed his eyes, unafraid.
For in the dark, he swore he knew,
The fiddler came to play for two.
They say death comes like a thief disguised as an old friend but that is not true.
It comes like a musician.
One evening when the air is heavy and the world grows quiet. You hear him tuning his strings. A low trembling note spills into the quiet of the night and suddenly the room feels colder, the shadows longer.
But if you have loved…Oh, if you have truly loved. Death does not frighten you. Because you know the music is not just for you. It is for the one who waits on the other side for you. The one whose laughter once stitched the torn edges of your heart, whose absence has ached.
When the final dance begins, there is no terror. The body may falter, the breath may fail but the soul rises to take a hand offered long ago. It steps into the circle, awkward at first then lighter, more free as if every sadness was only a weight slipping from your shoulders.
And somewhere beyond the veil of this fading world, the one you loved is waiting.
Smiling. Extending her hand.
For the dance is not an ending. It is the first step to the greater truth.