Even if you fade now,
even if the golden days surrender
to the copper hush of autumn,
I will not call it an ending.
You go as a beloved must go,
not from desire,
but from a law written beyond our hands.
The warmth still burns within my chest,
like the last touch of fingers
that once held mine,
like the laughter of youth
echoing across a field now quiet.
You depart, yet you leave behind
your fragrance in the air,
your color in the sky,
your fire in my heart.
Yes, autumn will gather its leaves,
and winter will lay its cold upon the earth,
but I shall not despair.
For the ember of summer remains,
a secret lamp against the frost,
teaching me that every loss
is also a promise.
Perhaps not in this season,
perhaps not in this lifetime,
but beyond the turning of years,
there waits a place
where summer does not end.
There, no farewell is spoken,
no shadow touches the light,
and youth blooms forever,
raw, fearless, radiant,
teaching us once more
to believe in dreams.
Until that meeting,
I will carry your warmth as faith,
your memory as hope,
your departure as longing sweetened by trust.
For even if you walk away now,
I know:
the story of summer is not a circle
but a return,
a return eternal,
a love eternal,
a summer eternal.