I loved her more fiercely than I ever intended to love again. Not because she asked me to, but because something within me needed to. As if some part of my soul recognized hers, and begged to give her everything. Like an angel descending into the ruins of my heart, whispering to try again. And so I did. I gave her pieces of myself I’d sworn I’d never share again. My aches, my trembling truths, the wounds I thought had long since closed, but she kissed them open. I began building a future with hands still shaking from the past, tracing blueprints of us across her skin. I told myself this was safe, even as the ground cracked beneath our feet. I tried to be careful, but she made recklessness feel like hope. I let her too close. Now, where her love once lived, there’s only silence. She left, not like a storm, but like a sunrise slipping away before I could hold onto its warmth. Like a page torn from a book mid-sentence. Now I sit here, love still blooming with nowhere to go. It hums in my chest like a song with no singer, a fire slowly fading without fuel. I never meant to love again. Never meant to need again. But I did, somehow slipping through the cracks. And now, I don’t know how to stop.

I know what we have isn't gone

Because if it was

It would have stopped hurting

Don’t tell me you love me if the weight of who I am makes you flinch. If the fractured parts of me send you running instead of reaching. You say your heart is mine, but only when it’s effortless, when I’m glowing, when I’m easy to love, when I’m bleeding quietly behind a proud smile. Where were you when I shattered in silence? When my eyes pleaded for even the smallest reason to stay afloat? You’re in love with the idea of who I could be, the version that doesn’t question, that doesn’t ache, that asks for nothing. But love doesn’t live in words. It lives in quiet hands pulling someone closer when walking away would be easier. So don’t say you love me if you can’t stand still when the fire starts. If you vanish when things get real, it’ll hurt less to let you go. Maybe you never loved me, just the echo of someone I never was.

my biggest fear is not to be able to write,
write for whom?
the depression is over me.
i can not trust them, false cries,
false rhymes, false sights.
if he leaves me alone,
my heart brokes,
tired of the road to love.
i just want to write a poem,
only for me and you.

I long to see you,  
To stand within the fragile space where you exist,  
To feel the warmth of your hands in mine,  
A tether between what is real and what is dreamed.  

To hear the silent rhythm of our hearts align,  
A duet composed for the moment they meet,  
Face to face,  
For the first time.  

And yet,
Perhaps it is mercy  
That the distance between us remains unbroken,  
That the air between us is untouched by the weight of presence.  

For when the time comes to part,  
The echo of your absence  
Will not tear so deeply,  
And the goodbye,  
Though still heavy,  
May hurt just a little less.

does it hurt you that we don't talk anymore?
that I am now a passing stranger on the street?
it doesn't hurt me.... because you did that enough.
deep inside I know I will never love again
will never be able to give my heart away to another stranger
you were what was supposed to be the better part of me
and now I can't even imaging feeling another ones touch.
I really hoped I never had to know this feeling
you told me you loved me under the moon with the stars so bright not so long ago
and I believed you.
I thought the sun would shine again....
but I will never love again.

As my world is engulfed in flames
Do you still burn for me?
Raging fires, roaring so loudly
Do you still feel me, hear me?
As my heart burns for you
As my love erupts 
Do you not see my passion?

Or am I doomed to be a waste?
All that heat and passion and love
An explosion of emotions, searing my skies
Do I not light you up?
Ashes upon ashes, dying to embers
Do you not want my warmth?

Burned out, cinders and gray
All those feelings and connections
Did it disappear like smoke?
What was once lit now smoldered
What was once passion is now blackened
Was our fire ever real?
Or was I the only one burned?