I have run barefoot through the gravel of my past,


let it tear at my soles,


let it whisper that love was a road meant only to wound me.

"I lost you."


Somewhere between the echoes and the empty spaces,


between the nights that stretched too long
 and the mornings that never brought you back.

I have sprinted through storms that cracked the sky open,


lightning lacing my ribs,


thunder pressing its heavy hands against my chest.

"I chased you."


Through rain that washed away the footprints,


through roads that led everywhere but home.

I have crawled through deserts of silence,


tongue thick with unsaid prayers,


sandpaper promises bleeding dry from my lips.

"I need you."


Not as a whisper,

but a cry.


Not as a choice,

but a gravity,

pulling me forward even when my legs don’t want to move.

And then—

there you are.


Standing at the edge of the horizon,


bathed in a light that turns pain into purpose.

"I choose you."


Because love is not just about running,


not just about wanting.


It is about choosing—again and again,


even when the road is unkind.

You are not a mirage.


Not a fleeting victory,


not a ribbon to break through and forget.

You are the breath I’ve been chasing,


the gold I have burned for,


the line I would cross again and again,


even if the journey shattered me.

Because what is struggle,


if not the proof that something is worth reaching?


What is endurance,


if not the language of love spoken in every aching muscle,


every ragged breath?

"I reach you."


At last.


At the end of every broken road,


at the edge of every impossible dream.

Let the miles stretch long,


let the night swallow the road whole—


I will keep moving.

Because you—


"I reach you."


You are the final step that makes the journey worth it.


You are the banner I break through,


the arms I collapse into,


the finish line of every dream I have ever dared to chase.

The space between us is not just miles—  
it’s the ache in my ribs when I breathe,  
the way my hands forget their purpose  
without the weight of your hips to hold.  

I am a house with no windows,  
a room where the light refuses to stay.
  
The world feels like a poorly written script—  
everyone else is laughing, but I can’t find the joke.  

I want to kiss you so badly it feels like a crime,  
like the universe has locked your lips in a glass case  
and hung a sign that says Do Not Touch.
  
But I would break every rule,  
shatter every law of physics,  
just to feel the warmth of your mouth on mine.  

I miss the way your voice wraps around my name,  
how it sounds like a prayer I didn’t know I needed.
  
I miss the way your laughter spills into the room,  
a symphony I’d trade my silence for in a heartbeat.  

I want to marry you—  
not in the way they show in movies,  
with the white dress and the perfect vows,  
but in the way that feels like coming home,  
like finding the missing piece of a puzzle  
I didn’t even know I was solving.  

Without you, the world is a grayscale film,  
a song played on a broken piano.
  
I am a shadow of myself,  
a half-finished poem  
waiting for your hands to write the ending.  

Come back to me.

Or let me come to you.
  
Let me close this distance,  
this unbearable, infinite space  
that feels like it’s swallowing me whole.  

I am not whole without you.
  
I am not anything.

You left without saying goodbye.

Not a whisper, not a word, not even a reason why.

You could have said anything, perhaps told a lie,

But it would be better than nothing, a reason not to cry.

You thought yourself a footnote in the universe,

You were the spirit of my words, every line and every verse.

You taught me how to write,

How to take these feelings to colour from black and white.

You gave me everything, mostly your time,

While I gave you love and words that sometimes rhyme.

But everything I had was simply not enough,

Such that you left me in the dark and in the rough.

I understand that I made mistakes,

But in the recesses of my mind, a pathway paves,

Looking for reasons why you walked away,

From a home built for you, a place to stay.

I want to tell you that I love you, but the words are not there,

A heart once beating with no emotion to spare.

I hope you read these words I've written,

To find all the love yet to be given.

I hope these words inspire you to think,

For your name on my chest, in permanent ink.

This chapter will never come to an end,

For it is a chapter that only you and I could mend.

I found that I dislike sweet things
To save my tolerance for you
And your self obsessed syrup of supremacy

A love letter in milk
Raspberries
Ice and sugar

A sweetness unmatched
A hint of narcissism
In watching you try to taste
the sweetness that you are

An impossible possibility
Oh holy matrimony
A constant pursuit of Fool's Gold

Day in and day out
Textbook tenacity
Personified

But you drink,
And drink,
And drink

Try,
And try,
And try

With two milkshakes a day

Heartbreak in many ways is a small death, all the same.

A part of you dies when regret is born and you can never get it back while wondering what could have, would have or should have happened.

When your food tastes horrible and the colour fades from the world around you and you are left with what only feels like a fever dream. A low budget version of reality and the writers are all on leave.

Why does this happen? Even though we've seen this film before. Different actors on different days but we all imagine the same ending and we know that there is a plot twist at the end when things don't go the way we thought it would. The way we hoped it would.

Is it perhaps that our hopes and dreams are the leading cause of death? Might we all stop romanticising the idea that our lives are one of the greatest films of all time?

Oftentimes the greatest tragedy is not death but rather the fact that we choose to feel nothing at all. That somehow closing the tap is the answer. Turning off the TV so you don't have to see how it all ends.

Unplug the cables. Throw away the disc. Supress the feeling of wanting more. Out of sight out of mind.

But in order to die, one must live. And if the little death is inevitable, why not live like it isn't? What exactly do you have to lose that you haven't lost already?

Your hair is long and beautiful.

In all its darkness second to none and just a pinch of pure gold, seasoned perfectly to taste.

If it is not that then it is easily the ballerina of your finger dancing graciously around each strand in perfect harmony with the vibrations of the universe but only you and I know that you do this when you are deep in thought.

And I know to watch silently as a masterpiece is being created.

I look up at your eyes and I am quickly reminded of our first date, but I often remember it wrong, so maybe you can help me.

Sometimes I see a luscious field of green and the fresh soil through which our romance bloomed and in others, I see the universe, stars, and galaxies locked behind them of which mankind has yet to discover.

So etch my name in history once more for being the first man to float peacefully among your stratosphere.

In my enamor, I greatly appreciate your existence and for everything we have said and done to bring us to this exact moment.

At this moment, in your eyes and the poise of your hair, I am reminded of the stories we have yet to tell, and here’s to hoping that you will always be there to tell them with me.

Because you always had this enthusiasm for well-told stories and it would not be the same any other way.