Pastels

Time stood still
while the colors bled into something softer than goodbye.
You were peace in the soul that screamed for help,
and I held you like quiet, afraid the noise would take you too.
An outstretched hand grasping, afraid to let go,
even as the colors slipped through our fingers, too soft to stay.
Your voice echoes, a longing that never strays,
like pastel ghosts tracing the places your warmth used to stay.
Joy expired, soul tired, missing pieces fall away,
and I gather the fragments in trembling hands,
but they fade like dusted pastels anyway.