I loved the man who held her hand,
who walked with her so close that their shoulders brushed like whispered promises.
Every step of his carried quiet joy,
as though being beside her was the whole purpose of his life.
He carried joy in the simplest things—
just being near her,
just breathing the same air she breathed.
I loved his strength, his steady confidence,
the way his smile never faltered,
always lit with the glow of eyes that adored her.
And oh, how he danced—
no hesitations, no awkwardness,
only the grace of a man made whole by holding her.
He held her as though the world
were built only for their motion,
and together they became one flowing shape,
drifting across the room,
the music folding them into its arms.
I see him now, in memory’s mirror—
so proud, so certain,
standing tall because she was beside him.
I loved that man.
The man I was
before he lost her,
before she was taken,
before silence replaced song.
I loved the way he danced.
I loved the way he lived.
I loved the way he loved her.
And I ache for him still—
that man,
that life,
that love—
the man I was,
the love I once held,
the me who belonged to her.
Michael Mathews
September 31, 2025 3:05 PM
On the lake near where I hear rumors of home
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