You touch me like a whisper meant for no one,
Soft, fleeting, fading when the world looks away.
I reach, not to hold, but to be held,
In the quiet ache where your silences stay.

Would you notice if I disappeared in parts?
If I cracked my ribs just to make you look back?
Would you still see me in bruised silhouettes,
Or am I just the echo you never unpacked?

My mother taught me how to be still for others,
How to swallow storms and call it peace.
But I am not a pond, love. I am the sea,
And you sail me blindfolded, begging for ease.

You cried at the lake, and I broke with you.
Every bone in me folded like paper in rain.
I said the wrong thing. God, I always do,
But I’d drown a thousand times to lift your pain.

At night, there's a voice, not mine, not yours,
Singing about dancers and distance and fate.
It tells me I’m a line without a hook,
A verse unfinished, a heart too late.

You say I’m sweet, you say I’m kind.
But only when no one hears.
And I let you, every time,
Because rejection is better than disappearing.

So if you ever return, soaked and shaking,
Know that I am still standing where the tide breaks,
Not waiting, not hoping, just aching
In the place where your love never wakes.

Locking eyes created a burning flame.
The look that lingers across the room,
or silently haunts throughout lifetime frames.
The gaze that wanders through mysteries, of who you might be.
Finding yourself in lingering thoughts,
the mind retreats into dreamscape spots.
Drawing images of creamy gardenias,  
Tangled up mazes of wing laced dreams.
Echos from the soul, like quiet thunder, willingly sparks.
Alluring radiance from breath taking oceans and streams.  
Weaving canvases of braided devotions,
only from your golden, sun lit beam.
As time folded on, you became the warm center of my vision,
my eyes forever found a path fate seated.

Love flooded fields,
gave us harvest,
granted us a tide
for growth, for both
of our hearts
to decide.

We weren't meant
to be ones to hide,
while we were
always open
to confide.

Light shined when
we were wilting.
Water quenched us
after a long drought.

But it is now
when I want out.

Sail to me

across the ocean made from my tears—

formed by the hollow you left.

I built this sea for you,

so you'd always have a way back

to where we began.



Reach me

in the places I've buried deep,

the ones even I am afraid to name.

Trace the outlines I've hidden,

and show me I was never

so easily forgotten.



Tell me the story of us,

not through my memory's window—

but in the way you survived it,

in your truths,

the tender ones you held close

when night refused to let you rest,

and I was the ache you couldn't name.



Tell me I still live in your quiet.

Speak the moments I never saw—

where you paused,

where you turned away,

where you missed me

and never said.



Is there a portrait of me

hanging in the corners of your mind?

Paint memories with the palette of our love—

when no one was watching.

Use the colours we made together—

the rise of us,

blush pinks bleeding into amber light,

the bruised violet of our breaking.



Do you still hear me

in the hush between songs?

Do the lyrics still reflect us back at you?


Show me your wounds—

the ones left

when we unravelled

into strangers

who still knew each other too well.

Let me see the shape of your life

without me in it.

Come to me again—

on the tide of every tear I shed for you.

This ocean remembers.

It knows you

better than I do now.



Let it carry you

to the shoreline of our time,

where we loved once—

wild and unguarded,

a flame burning too brightly to last.



There,

we still exist—

untouched by time,

preserved in the hush

between wave and wind,

between what was

and what is now.

First love—

These words, unspoken and raw,

years pass, yet your shadow lingers,

etched into the sound of a worn vinyl record.

There is a place in our minds,

Where it plays in your living room,

Endlessly, since the night we fell.

I recall the verse of the song you played,

a fragile confession of why you are broken,

while you kept parts of yourself hidden,

guarding a truth that’s too painful to own.

That sacred moment—

a scar that whispers secrets,

too brittle to survive.



Now I wander through hallways of our past,

your green eyes—

piercing the hollow spaces of memory,

haunting me with the weight of what was lost.

The bitter burn of whiskey,

the residue of regret—

these remain,

reminders of the words you never spoke,

the ones I needed to heal.



You urged me to leave, to fly,

to conquer this life.

But my wings feel heavy,

a descent into the raw, relentless pain

of a love that both shaped us and shattered us,

leaving wounds that time only deepens.



Music is stained by you,

you’re woven into every note,

recalling to me both what you gave

and what you took away.

Your pain bleeds through every lyric,

questioning me,

forcing me to question myself:

Is it my memory that chains you to the dark?

When will songs ever lose your echo?



I hope you found peace in my songs for you.

And they make your soul rest,

like it did in my arms.

My love falling around you

like a perfect harmony,

a warm melody that lingers,

but that failed to heal.



Our memories are our secret—

only we can navigate their corridors,

only we bear the weight

of love that devoured and pain unspeakable.

We know the agony of unravelling two souls,

once certain they'd found home,

only to carve a void,

grasping at fragments too broken to mend.



The void remains—

I needed you to love me,

more than the numbness you drowned in.

I thought if I could piece you together,

I might somehow make myself whole.

But it was you who broke the chains,

that bound us,

pleading for my freedom,

as if I had ever wanted to be free.

Yet you never truly left, did you?



How can I grasp joy

when your absence lingers like a breath I can't

release?

Perhaps my soul remains entangled

in the silhouette of yours.

I am rich with reason to smile—

For I became the shape of your longing, moulded

my life into what you dreamt for me.

But love is never selfish,

So now I carry the weight of what was broken,

the ghost of what we almost had,

knowing love was never meant to be won,

only given, only lost.



What peace exists at the bottom of an empty bottle?

The torment of the mind only silenced,

quietly growing,

pressing against the walls you built.

I'm still tracing the outline of what we were,

still searching for myself in the wreckage of us.

I once made a home in your sorrow,

and now, without it,

I don't know where I belong.

In dreams, I bear your sorrow, grasping for the

moments you escape your demons.

Release me from this endless ache—

find the strength to let go.

My soul will not rest

until you are at peace.

I wait for you still,

hoping you can heal enough

to set me free, and rise beyond the grip of this

endless night.


Time slipped away as I watched you spiral,

and I needed to reach you, to speak, to be heard

but you were only there in fragments—

the version of you clouded by liquor,

a hollowed shell, shrinking deeper into your

shame.

You pushed me away,

the distance growing,

until I became a stranger.

You left me no choice,

no escape but to walk away.

You gave me only one option:

leave, or be consumed

by the slow, painful erosion of you.



You crafted a shrine for me,

adorned me with wings,

elevated and sacred, untouched by your secrets.

Your last chance at redemption,

a sanctuary where you hid from yourself.

Your perfect lie—

an illusion of salvation.

Once shattered, your adoration

twisted into disdain.

The hand that shaped my wings,

became the force that broke them.

And now, you watch me fall

from the heights you once placed me upon.


Yet I release you, I forgive you,

Love, a quiet thread that ties us still,

A spark woven into the fabric of time,

Never truly gone, but transformed,

gently fading

into the glow of what we were.

I return sometimes to those moments,

not with longing, but with reverence—

like that stolen kiss—

unexpected, breathless,

the words "I love you" spilling from me,

uncontainable, truthful,

your arms, holding me,

an electric hum between us.



This is how I'll hold us—

in the warmth of what we were,

not in the sorrow that followed.

When you remember me,

let it be the quiet depth of my love that remains,

the warmth of my hand resting softly on your

cheek,

the steady, unwavering gaze that held you,

unchanged by time.

Let that be what stays with you—

not the deafening silence that followed,

not the weight of what we lost,

but the light that we held, even just for a moment,

so close to perfect but fragile.

Not perfect enough.