Clear the house and find old poems —
the ones never meant to be read,
never meant to be heard.
But you tore through them
like you tore through my soul.
I cannot do it.
I cannot bear the thought
of you reading my mind,
of you reading my soul.
Let me erase your memory
so we can live on.
The flowers have finished drying.
Time is ticking.
And we can’t rewind.
It is out of my control.
You stare at me with silent eyes —
the kind that stay still when I reach.
Let me make contact,
just once.
I didn’t have much regard
for the little things
until you left —
the smell of your hair
on the pillow next to mine,
the way your fingers curled in sleep,
or how you always left the light on,
just in case.
I walk through rooms
where your absence hums
louder than my footsteps.
I try to trace the memory of your voice
against the silence.
And still —
I would give anything
to hear you say my name again,
not with anger,
not with regret,
but softly,
as if you had never left.
For you have haunted me in my dreams
and will forever be a part
I cannot retrieve.
I would give anything
to be the version of myself
you once reached for
in the dark.

For what it’s worth,
those words tremble from my lips
more often than not —
unheard, unacknowledged,
as though I’m only ever half-there,
a shadow at the edge of your focus.
For what it’s worth,
you once had a place
in the quiet corners of my heart —
not a home,
but a storm shelter
cracked at the seams.
A battleground of quiet wars
where even silence left bruises.
I rewrite the truth,
try to shape it into something soft,
something you might believe.
But it slips through.
Nothing I do seems to hold.
Nothing feels certain.
I change direction
like a car caught in a roundabout —
circling, circling,
too afraid to choose a way out.
Every road leads somewhere,
and somewhere might hurt.
So I don’t move.
And while I stall,
the engine inside me starts to burn.
The pressure builds.
The heat rises.
But still — I wait.
Because moving means deciding,
and deciding means risking being wrong.
Help me.
Say something I understand.
Your silence is a language
I never learned to speak.
For what it’s worth —
I want to understand.
But I’m burning.
Slowly, completely —
as the engine heats up
and demands a choice.
Any exit might save me,
might stop the flames.
But I keep circling.
Until the engine explodes —
and pieces of me
fly in every direction,
even the ones I tried hardest to avoid.
Now, for what it’s worth,
all that’s left
is wreckage made from hesitation,
scattered through the silence
we never learned to break.

Nenne mich nicht bei meinem Namen,
nenne mich so, wie du mich erinnerst –
als Wärme zwischen kalten Tagen,
als Stimme, bevor ich verstummte.

Let me make it up to you.
I have disappointed you,
humiliated and hurt you,
my apologies taste like silence now.

Ich sehe dich in meinem Spiegel,
doch mein Blick weicht aus.
Akzeptanz rinnt langsam,
wie Sand durch zitternde Finger.

I am you, I am me,
split in the middle,
half apology, half hope.
And I don’t know which half is mine.

Hilf mir, mich wieder zu lieben,
wenn auch nur ein wenig –
wenn auch nur für einen Moment,
in dem dein Blick mich wieder trägt.

Let me rebuild the bridge I burned,
step by step, breath by breath.
I’m tired of being a stranger
in my own chest.

Ich schreibe mich neu
mit tobender Hand.
Kein Held, kein Retter,
nur jemand, der wieder anfangen will.

Decisions over discussions,
Help me find solace in my ruthless mind.
Glasses blur. Windows reflect.
Order has been lost.
Hell has frozen over.
Shadows are lit.
Nothing is right—
My thoughts race backwards.

I just want a place with you,
In the eternal sunshine of your heart.
You have cool hands.
Don’t make me change. I don’t want to.
Coastlines have cliffs and beaches—
But I am the wave,
Crashing again and again,
Never reaching.

Hold out your hand for me.
Let me grip it.
Trust me not to pull you down.
But you shake your head
As I drown,
The weight in my heart
Defies my kicking limbs.
Fireflies light up my face in the wild woods.
Streams run down my cheeks.
Lungs tear in half—
I am forced to stop.
Forced to stop running:
From you.
From me.
From my life.
From my mind.

Practice over skill,
But I am too tired to care.
Too tired to try.
Frozen at the edge of the bed.
Sweat saturates the sheets.
Vivid dreams
Rip me back to you.

I just want a place with you.

Streaks of sunlight make your eyes ever so blue,
Like oceans lit by morning’s grace.
I wish I had eyes like that—
Eyes that can capture,
And never let them drift laway.
They hold me still,
Right where you want me.

I’m falling—
Uncertain, unconscious,
No map, no anchor,
No promise that the chute will open.
But still, I fall.
I fall for you.
And somehow, that fall feels like flying.

Help me find solace in the storm.
Be the calm when the thunder grows close.
Shelter me when the rain won’t stop—
When skies crack open and shadows swell.
Just stare out with me into the grey,
And hold me like you'll never let me go.

If I break, let it be in your arms.
If I fade, let me fade beside you.
And if I soar—
Let it be because you believed I could.

I sit for hours.
My coffee cools into silence.
Eyes heavy.
Stomach knots.

I ache for comfort—
Can you give it?
You were the best thing to happen to me.
So why must I ruin it?

Speak to me in riddles.
Keep me guessing.
Make me wait.
Make me beg.
I am truly yours—
And you don’t even know.

"Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same."
I whispered Brontë like a secret.
Maybe hoping you'd hear it
In the space between my words.

You are too good
Too pure
I get lost in the worry of not being good for you
Don't let me pollute you.

You smile at me
Like the sun caught in a window.
I try not to stare too long.
I try not to hope too hard.
The fear of getting lost hangs in the air.

Every look you give me
Feels like a maybe.
Every silence
Feels like a no.

I love the waiting—
The little moments,
The crumbs of you
That I gather like gold.

But it hurts.
Not knowing.
Balancing between “maybe he does”
And “maybe he never will.”

Still, I stay.
Eyes heavy.
Coffee cold.
Heart full,
And aching.

You're pretentious.
You keep a Che Guevara poster in your room
and colour-coordinate everything.
Your room is like a vomiting rainbow.

I hate rainbows—
their brightness, and what they stand for.
Hope and happiness
are almost as pretentious as you.

I’ve moved on.
I don’t think about what your shampoo smelled like,
Or what your opinions on my actions would be.
I’ll forget about you.
I will.

We were always so different—it wouldn’t have worked.
But when you said you liked me, I believed you.
My deep emotions scared you off...
Could you not handle them?
Handle me?

You said I was intense—
Like that was a bad thing.
Like feeling deeply
was some kind of flaw,
instead of proof
that I actually cared.

Ahh, to care,
what a horrible thing to be fought up in.
Wouldn't life be so much easier if it all bounced off my shoulder?
If I could look at you and not get that terrible knot in my stomach,
always longing for you to come back into my life.

You made me feel
like too much and not enough
at the same time.
And now—
I second-guess every action I take,
every emotion I show.

I still replay it sometimes—
The look in your eyes when it was just us two,
How you could never hold my eye,
The way your fingers traced my hair...


But I’m learning to let go.
Not all memories are meant to be lived in.
And loving you
doesn’t mean I have to stay hurt.