The Silver Visitor

You arrive without knocking,
a pale face at my window,
wearing silence like a cloak.
Some nights you linger—
silver and steady,
a confidant who listens
to every restless thought I spill.

Other nights you vanish,
leaving me alone with shadows,
as if absence itself were
a lesson you’re determined to teach.

I’ve tried to follow you,
to map your moods in calendars,
but you are never the same—
waxing, waning,
slipping between fullness and retreat,
like someone undecided about love.

Yet always, always, you return.
Even in your smallest sliver
you remind me:
goodbyes are only half-truths,
and some companions
were born to drift,
but never truly leave.