Too Late

Your hands are soft and gentle,
You say my name like a promise,
a place I could rest,
but I don't know how.
Only how to guard the wreckage
of a past I never asked for
and can't forget.

It's not fair to you.
I'll never be able
to give you what you need.

I watch you turn away,
your footsteps fading into a road
I should have walked beside you.

I close the door,
press my head against the wood,
and whisper your name,
too soft, too late.