One Last Chorus

Golden hour on the rooftop, backpacks by the door,

laugh lines and small confessions.

We've tucked into our drawers.

The hallway still remembers every quiet step

we made. Photos on our fridge and promises we never planned to trade.

You strum the first of something, I hum the harmony.

A chorus like a lighthouse on an hourglass of dreams.

We don't have to finish every sentence we start.