You didn't leave, for in order to leave you must first come. 

You were sitting at the edge of the river stream, and I sat right across it. We were throwing regrets and sins into the river, and it was polluted with our dark thoughts. We didn't cross, you never came into me and I, you. But I know how it feels like living by this stream, I know how the wind brushes our hair and how the trees make way for sunlight, how warm the stream was we dipped our feet. And then I know how they then send you shivers during the night, how suddenly the trees haunt you and how cold the river gets. So I reached for your frozen hands. And told you about story of the stars, and how they too shine in between those trees. And how the beautiful moon reflects on the river. I told you the dark universe we live in, you and me, is a gift.

I let you cry, and I let your nightmares speak volumes, and I let your fear speaks your choices, and I certainly, now, let your silence fills the spaces we have in between. But dear, you didn't leave. You linger in this dark universe I long settled in. Though I pray everyday that you'll make it out of here, I still see you across the stream.