the moon is a whisper
on my bedroom wall,
she's ten times louder in my head

her name is a tide
it pulls,
it tugs,
it etches itself
on the inside of my eyelids.

every blink is a memory i didn't ask for
her laugh-
uninvited
but welcome
always

the bed is too big
for one body and this much longing
some nights
sleep forgets me
other nights
she replaces it

I packed up my life
Uprooting all I had known
Loss like a knife
On a plane all alone

Only luggage I had
Harsh words in my mind
Not lovely, but sad
Unlike most words I find

They say time will heal
I’m not sure it will
I left, but I feel
I carry it still

If I had less time
Could you or would you
Love me for the rest of it

If I met you in the afterlife
Could you or would you
Even try to find me

And deep down I know
You could but wouldn't
But I have to ask what if

Did you love me?
Or was it just my laughter at your jokes—
my habit of giggling, even at your half-shady pokes?

Did you love me?
Or did I just have the time?
Did you think, “Yeah, she’s not half bad. This could be just fine.”

Did you love me?
Or were you just scared—
tired of doing life alone, craving a body that cared?

Was it real for you? Or just another game?
Was I a plot point in your story
because the chapters had gotten tame?

These thoughts still haunt me—
and the truth I’ll never know.
Mostly because I’d never ask—
and I wouldn't survive you saying “no.”