Before the Light Fades

Before the Light Fades
(a poem from Allan)

Some mornings, I sit still
while the clock ticks softly,
and I wonder—
how many more sunrises will I see?

The world feels quiet,
but not peaceful.
It’s more like
something missing
that used to be here
but left without saying goodbye.

I try to write,
but the words hide.
They sit in the shadows
behind the fog
that comes when I feel
empty,
heavy,
tired.

People say
to be grateful,
to look on the bright side,
but sometimes
there is no bright side.
Only a side
that’s honest,
and aching,
and full of memories
that make me miss everything
I once had.

I am 82.
That’s not a complaint.
It’s a quiet truth.
And it brings with it
a different kind of loneliness—
the kind you carry
like a soft, old coat.

Still,
I want to say something
before the light fades.
I want someone to know
that I was here—
that I felt deeply,
loved truly,
and tried,
even when the trying was hard.

If this is a poem,
let it be a real one—
one that doesn’t wear a mask
or try to cheer you up.
Let it just sit beside you,
the way a friend would,
when there’s nothing to fix
but something to feel.