Hair rose at the back of my neck as I wrote,
as if time itself
ran its fingers along my spine,
reminding me of what I could not outrun.
The ticking, louder now,
echoed in the quiet,
each beat a hammer,
each second a pulse I couldn’t ignore.
I’m sorry,
forgive me –
these words feel too small for the space between us,
but they are all I have.
I love you,
and with trembling hands,
I give you back to the universe,
with all the love,
all the gratitude
I can gather in this broken heart.
We only ever move forward, step by step,
leaving behind what was –
not in regret, but with a gentle nod,
as the sun tips over the edge of the world,
stretching shadows that grow long, then fade.
Our talks linger in my mind,
woven with laughter and whispers,
the light things, the heavy things,
all falling into place
like they had always belonged there.
You have this way of understanding
without needing to speak,
a way of holding me
without a single touch.
Waking to the sound of rain on my window, the steady rhythm of drops against the glass, I stir, bone-tired but smiling, grateful for this gentle greeting from the world. The kind of morning where weariness feels like a badge earned, not a burden.
It boggles my mind,
how effortlessly he enters your space,
how your laughter fades,
just enough for me to notice.
You think I do not sense it,
the way your words twist
and reshape themselves around him,
like you are building a different world
when he is near,
one I cannot quite reach.
Sleep, my love,
for in our dreams,
the miles vanish,
and we find each other
where time has no power,
where love,
even in its longing,
is boundless.
Yet every day,
he takes what should be mine,
his presence invisible,
but felt in every word,
every glance,
and I am left here,
waiting in the silence
for the pieces of you
that he hasn’t yet claimed.