The Last Whisper Beneath the Silence of Stone

(verse 1)
I met you by the mirrors, hiding tremble in my breath,
Pretending I had lost my phone just to hold your voice instead.
You called it softly like a warm Thai breeze,
and something fragile sparked between the two of us with ease.

You laughed at every message, said you weren’t searching for “someone”,
yet day by day you drifted closer, like dusk leaning into dawn.
And in my language you whispered words meant only for me:
“dziękuję… kocham cię…” — the sweetest sound I’ll ever keep.


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(chorus)
It was the last whisper beneath the silence of stone,
when the earth split open and you were suddenly gone.
28 March 2025 — the quake stole your breath,
and my world collapsed with you in that moment of death.
Still I hear your voice under rubble and sky,
telling me softly, “Don’t cry… I’m still nearby.”


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(verse 2)
You flew home because your father was fading away,
you said, “Family is everything — that’s where I need to stay.”
You buried him gently beneath a Buddhist dawn,
and a month later the shaking earth took you and carried you on.

I didn’t know the world was trembling where you stood,
two days before I heard your voice — gentle, warm, and good.
And then 30 March they found you under stone,
two days after the earthquake — cold, silent, alone.


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(bridge)
I deleted all your pictures, thinking pain would fade,
but I only lost you twice in the same quiet shade.
Now in the grey UK sky I whisper through tears,
“Forgive me for not being there when you needed me near.”
And your soft Polish words still echo through night:
“dziękuję… kocham cię…” — holding me tight.


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(final chorus)
It was the last whisper beneath the silence of stone,
and I carry it with me wherever I roam.
Taken on March 28… found two days too late,
and I live with that ache carried by fate.
If you hear me beyond dust, beyond all I have known —
know this: I love you.
Forever.
Beyond bone and stone.