how's it possible
the many years slipped past me
casting no shadows

why am I surprised
when hope picks up and leaves me
not leaving a note

I named the clouds just to feel known,
told secrets to a skipping stone.
The wind replied with riddles sweet—
I laughed, alone, on crowded streets.

When I was young
I was scared of ghosts,
Now I greet them every night
in the mirror

“can’t repeat the past?” he said.
“why of course you can.”
and god, i believed him.
still do, most days.
because i see you
in every flash of spring,
in the gold glint of things
i was never meant to hold.

the green light still blinks,
even if it’s just in my head,
a soft pulse saying
you were real,
you were mine,
once.

i built my love the way he did:
with trembling hands,
and too much hope.
like maybe if i hurt enough,
time will fold in on itself,
and we’ll be sixteen
and invincible
again.

but dreams die slow,
especially the beautiful ones.
and i’m still reaching across water
for something
that won’t reach back.

i keep thinking:
the past isn’t dead
if i still ache for it.
but maybe that’s just part
of the story i keep telling myself,
a softer lie
than letting go.

a battlefield with no blood, just poison
using words not weapons
where every little thing hurts, that's happened
where the soldiers don't sacrifice but disappear
leaving wounds that are severe.