Until I Die
for my beloved
I still dream of me and you —
but these nights are cold and blue.
No one lying next to me,
no second warmth, no company.
Day and night, it's all I do:
remember who I held, and who
I could have been so glad beside,
with nothing left for time to hide.
But you walked out so long ago —
I only meet you down below,
in sleep, in silence, in the dark,
where for a breath we still can talk.
If I could call you up right now,
and hear your voice, I don't know how —
it wouldn't fix the broken part:
you didn't stay. I lost my heart.
Imagine how the sun would shine
if you were here and you were mine.
But light left with you long ago.
And I remained.
In the same four walls.
The same window.
The same soft rain.
No one knocks. No one asks.
I rewind the past
like a broken film
where we almost worked —
where you almost stayed.
Now home is just a waiting place
for someone who forgot my face.
I don't want anyone but you —
not in these years, not when I'm through.
But here's the price:
I sleep alone. I wake to stone.
My phone just lies there, cold, unknown.
And when I'm old and nights don't end,
there's no one's hand for me to bend.
No voice that says: you're not alone.
Just me.
Just this hollow bone of a home.
Just a heart that won't let go.
I close my eyes — you're almost here.
The sky turns soft. The sky turns clear.
Then I open up and see the ceiling —
no warmth, no meaning, no feeling.
For all my life.
Me and you, you and me —
not chance, not luck, not destiny.
It just was true.
The only one for me was you.
But you're not here.
So here I'll be.
Alone.
Alone.
Alone.
I will end my life this way —
not by my choice, but by the gray
slow fading of an unheld hand,
of breaking, healing, breaking again.
No ring. No child. No chair for two.
Just silence. Just the ghost of you.
Just a mirror where a stranger stands
and doesn't recognize my hands.
We should have been
so happy together.
But the season turned.
You didn't either.
And still —
still —
I don't want anyone but you
until my lungs forget to move,
until my ribs stop rising, falling.
When I remember us, the calling
of your name still turns the sky so blue —
but blue is cold.
And so is this bed.
And so is the future I never fled.
So no: we're not happy together.
Not now.
Not ever.
But me and you?
That story has no end.
Not chance, not luck — I don't pretend.
You are the only one for me.
And I will love you
until I die.
Alone.
Unheld.
Unseen.
Still yours.
Forever.
The Slow Decay of Never Being Held
Written by Hossein Nansaei
April 2026
