In the stillness

Sigh. Silence. 
Tremor. Confession. 
Rain, thunder, resentment, tears, 
He turned away—a sad reflection, 
Once again, dead silence nears. 

And again, confessions echo, 
The sparkle in her lovely eyes fades. 
She calls, he breathes, a quiet show, 
She’s silent while his voice cascades. 

His words are lost within her heart, 
Only trembling, she listens near. 
He hangs up softly, they drift apart, 
She sits on the couch, consumed by fear. 

He gazes tenderly through the glass, 
Sees their garden, their cherished space. 
He spots her there, as moments pass, 
Strolling gently, lost in grace. 

“Why did I leave? I can't comprehend, 
For I love her, of this I'm sure.” 
In the house, she feels the end, 
The phone beside her, a silent lure. 

She hears the dial tone, a chilling sound, 
How are they now, so far apart? 
Couch, window, and wind abound, 
She stands, indifferent, with a heavy heart. 

The world unfolds like a palm in her hand, 
Her life played out like a long, slow film. 
Nothing frightens her, she understands, 
From heights above, her spirit's still. 

“Jumping—what risk could that pose?” 
Yet closer she moves, drawn by the thread. 
As reason falters, quietly it goes, 
The phone rings thrice, her heart is fed. 

She picks it up, descends from the night, 
His voice, so lively, sweetly calls. 
This dearest sound, her guiding light, 
Separates her from the darkness that falls.