Basic Sunset

You never taught me to forget you,
even though in your hands
I learned how the wind itself whispers.

You didn't prepare me
for emptiness, for silence, for oblivion.

You didn't explain to me
how yellow holds its breath
when the old words turn stained.

No, you didn't teach me to forget you,
and when the sun bleeds into
red sunsets, the pulse slips from my hands.

Silence sketches you in the nostalgia
of who I am, tracing my way through mistakes.