I look into the mirror,
a reflection without shine.
I look deeper, seeing my own reflection through my eyes.
But something is missing, something isn’t there.
I feel it, missing in my heart, in my mind.
But what is this yearning?
Can it be love? Or something else?
I’m afraid that no love I can have,
no words come from my mouth to express it.
Even if my soul punched my throat,
no word will come out to speak of it.

I won’t claim space  
you haven't softly opened,  
but in the gentle breath  
between silence and sound,  
I remain

Not as a shadow lingering  
nor a ghost from yesterday,  
but as someone who always saw you,  
clearly, tenderly,  
even when your heart feared  
what it meant to be truly known.

I know your quiet battles,  
the way you fear losing control,  
how it aches to reveal yourself,  
to step from shadow into light,  
uncertain if anyone could truly hold  
the weight and wonder of your soul.

I've seen you craft careful armor,  
watched you dance on edges of yourself  
longing to be witnessed,  
yet afraid the world  
might look too deeply,  
or not closely enough.

But I saw.

I saw the trembling courage  
behind every hesitant smile,  
the hidden poetry you wrote  
with whispered breaths,  
the strength in softness  
you thought went unnoticed.

I witnessed your silent bravery
the quiet way you loved,  
the gentle way you tried,  
the powerful beauty  
in simply showing up,  
even when you felt unseen.

what if I never forget you....
what if ten years go by and I still remember how your upper lip twitched in that lop sided way when you were confused.
what if I meet someone new but all I see in them is missing pieces of you....
what if twenty years drag on and I'm still stuck on you.
how you smelt of pine and whiskey, tears and regrets.
what if every night when I lay in bed I wish you were there beside me, holding me, feeling your heart beat against mine.
what if life gets away from me and I miss out on everything I want, because you were most of it.
what if I'm on my death bed, aged with gray hair and tired skin, and my last thought is that I spent my whole life loving you, even when you didn't love me back.... even if you left?

This bed was made for two, yet it still feels empty without you. The sheets twist and tangle, much like the echoes of our laughter that once filled this space. These pillows, once cradling our heads, now hold only the ghosts of whispered secrets. Your warmth fades too quickly, replaced by a cold that lingers in silence and longing. Moonlight spills through the blinds, tracing the spot where your touch once rested. I find you in my dreams, but like the tide pulling away from the shore, our love slips beyond my grasp. This bed, meant for two, stretches wide and hollow, like a map of the moments we once traced upon it together. And no matter how deep I sink into the mattress, it will never feel full without your embrace.

Allow me to explain.
Outside, the sky weeps with silver threads,
but it is not truly raining.
The ground is dry beneath my feet,
yet I swear, I feel myself drowning.

In reality—
It is not the storm that chills me,
but the absence of warmth once promised.
Not the wind that carves my bones,
but the silence where your laughter should be.

My zinc winter
clangs hollow where your voice once rang,
a dull, muted season rusted in regret.
The frost bites, not with fangs, but with longing,
etching your name in the breath of the glass.

Is missing
a thaw, a bloom, a sky unstained by memory.
The ache of frozen hands reaching
for what has already melted away.

Your blue spring—
a color I can no longer find,
an echo of something soft and radiant,
like the first petal that dares to rise
from the ruin of winter’s hands.

Tell me,
is it raining where you are?