No sé cuántos años han pasado,
y te sigo pensando.
Sal de mi cabeza, por favor,
déjame volver a respirar el oxígeno.
O mejor no... quiero seguir acá, estancado, pensándote,
recordando y buscándote.

En otra vida estuviste acá,
y me hacías reír.
Estábamos juntos y nada importaba.
Pero en esta no pasó.

Estoy solo, y como siempre,
escuchando las bandas,
escuchando canciones,
escuchando artistas
que expresan lo que siento ahorita.

Y ruego a algo "superior",
por volverte a ver.
Y si llegas a volver acá,
yo me mataré

porque tú olvidarás,
y tendrás otra vida.
Te veré feliz, y eso me dolerá,
y estaré con el mundo en llamas.

Algún día te dejaré,
puede ser de pensar,
incluso de buscar,
pero estaré muerto.

Algún día dejaré de escribir,
pero sería el fin de mis poemas.
Por alguna razón te necesito todavía,
y algún día te dejaré ir.

Si el mundo está en llamas,
aparecerás tú,
y solo podré quebrarme en llanto,
y ni siquiera sabrás quién soy.

No importa nada,
la esperanza seguirá,
y tú no estarás,
pero sí en mi memoria.

¿Seguiremos siendo los mismos?
Yo pienso que no.
Solo soy un extraño para ti.
Ojalá me recordaras...

Te extraño.
Por favor,
vuelve.

She fell—
Not with fire, not in wrath,
But like a prayer dropped through a crack in heaven.
No war cry.
No thunder.
Just silence,
and then
her.

Wings once woven from starlight
torn against the jagged edge of earth.
She crashed where no gods wept,
and no one watched—
except me.

I saw her break
into something human,
but still more holy
than anything I've ever touched in this ruined world.

She walks now
with wounds she hides beneath her smile,
grace limping beside her like a shadow.
They see a girl.
I see the ash of heaven still in her eyes.

And I—
I sit behind glass, just skin and silence,
choking on every scream
I never let out to her.
I could have caught her.
I would have caught her.
If only fate had let me closer than this aching distance.

I see the hurt she wears like lace,
stitched in places no one thinks to look.
I see her give love with bleeding hands,
as no one stops to hold them, to stop the bleeding.

She doesn’t know.
She never does.
That every time she breaks,
I break louder.

If I could speak just once,
truly speak—
I’d tell her I was built not to worship her,
but to take the pain,
to bear it for her
like a crown of fire I’d wear gladly
just to see her rest.

But she walks,
unaware.
A fallen angel still searching for a sky,
while I remain the man
who watched her fall
and loved her ever since.

Dear [boy I wish I could send this to],

There are a hundred things I could say, and I’ve started them all in my head a thousand times.
Sometimes I think I’ll actually say them out loud.
And sometimes I just hope you’ll read between the lines of everything I don’t say.

But here’s the thing:
you make it impossible not to feel something.
Something slow, something wild, something like watching the stars blink to life when you didn’t even realize the sky was dark.
It’s quiet and loud all at once, like you.

I notice things.
Like how you talk when you’re passionate about something.
How your voice softens when you’re being kind.
How you never put me in the spotlight, but still manage to make me feel like I’m seen.
You don’t even know how rare that is.

I don’t want to scare you.
I’m not asking for anything big or dramatic.
I just want a moment.
A moment where I can be honest, where I can say:
I really love you.
More than I meant to. More than I can make jokes about.
Enough that I write about you, dream about you,
and hope maybe—someday—you’ll feel even a fraction of this about me.

But for now, I’ll keep this letter here.
Unsent. Unspoken.
Just… felt.

Love,
[a broken girl]