Poem with a Melancholy Refrain

I stopped loving you one late afternoon that seemed suspended,
with the wind passing by me like someone crossing an empty house.

The sun setting on the horizon, a little too dazed,
illuminated only what was beyond saving.

And I realized, without wanting to realize,
that love also fades slowly,
like someone who forgets to exist.

And everything orbiting an irreversible aporia.

Your words, once so full of the world,
now arrived like lost letters,
with worn stamps and dates that no longer mattered.

Your laughter, which once set my heart ablaze,
was now just a memory of light,
a cold ember that no longer knew how to burn.

Even your silence, which was once my home,
became a place I no longer knew how to enter.

I tried to hold you like someone holding water in their hands,
but love slipped through my fingers,
and the more I squeezed, the faster it escaped.
I tried to remember what we were,
but the memories always came with a new weight,
a weight that said: “don’t come back”.

Time, that patient craftsman,
molded us until we became strangers,
two travelers who share the road,
but not the destination.

There are pains that don’t scream.

There are farewells that aren’t said.

There are loves that don’t die in a day,
but in a succession of small silences
that accumulate until they become irreversible.

And ours faded away like that,
like ink that fades in the sun,
like letters that time yellows,
like everything that isn’t made to last.

When I finally looked inside,
there was no more room for you.

Not for lack of memory,
but for lack of future.

Today I see us like someone watching an old movie,
with worn-out dialogue, faded colors,
and a story that no longer fits in my heart.

There is no anger, no open wound,
there is only the sad certainty
that the love we had did not survive
the time we asked of it.

Not for all the salt in the sea would I return to what we were.
Not for all the light of the mornings we shared.
Not for everything I once thought we would be.

Because there are paths that, once traveled,
cannot be retraced.

And ours, however painful it is to admit,
ended where it had to end:
at the exact point where I stopped loving you
and you stopped recognizing me.

And everything orbiting an irreversible aporia.

And so it will remain.
Forever out of reach.

Forever irreversible.