Left To Fade

You ask if I miss you, but I pause,  

Not because I don’t feel—  

But because I don’t know if “miss” is the right word.  

You were a song I played on repeat,  

Melodies woven into my bones,  

Lyrics whispered in my sleep.  

But time, relentless and unkind,  

Turned the volume down to silence,  

Until I forgot to press play.  

Still, some nights, without warning,  

Your tune drifts through the air,  

And I remember every note, every line, every ache.  

But do I press replay? No…  

Some echoes are best left to fade.  

Yet when your song plays on its own,  

I let it run, all the way to the end.