5 years of closing, like a shop in permanent clearance. Slashing prices on pieces of yourself, giving away the best parts for a fraction of their worth.

Frustrated and resentful for not being accepted at full price.

You’re too much, too cold, too sensitive, too uncaring, too… ‘not ‘the type’’.
Not into small talk.
Nothing in common.
But at least you don’t disgust them… right?

5 years of closing - the shutters grinding down heavier every day.

Once full. Open. Lit from the inside.
Now the shelves are bare,
the signage faded,
the windows covered in the dust you’re desperately trying to wipe away.

Feelings? Dismissed.
Truth? Twisted.
Vulnerability? Weaponised.

5 years of closing - not all at once, but inch by inch.
One lightbulb burning out, then another.
One shelf cleared, then another.

You used to know what you stocked.
There was clarity in who you were.
There’s inventory somewhere, maybe -
but no list, no labels.
Just shelves full of things you can’t name,
and no one left to tell you what’s worth buying.

Intentions? Questioned.
Needs? Inconvenient.
Silence? Safer.

5 years of closing - they say you meant to do it.
Meant to shut those shutters hard.
Meant to leave the shelves empty.
Meant to make them feel unwelcome.

As if the boarded windows were part of the plan.
As if the silence behind the counter was customer service.
As if becoming another abandoned shop front was a choice -
not the result of too many days with nothing left in stock.

Unseen in plain sight.
Unheard in full volume.
Unheld, even when breaking.

But hey - at least you don’t disgust them… not quite…
right?

You’re both beneath the surface,
neither knows which way is up.

Eyes locked through the blur,
but neither strong enough to pull the other up.

You stretch out.
Not to rescue, but to whisper “I’m still here.”
Your fingertips touch, then slip away like tides.

Words don’t work down here.
They scatter like fish, slipping away before they touch the other’s skin.

You open your mouth to speak,
but all that leaves is silence.

Panic comes in waves.
You see it in their eyes.
You feel it in your chest.
They kick toward the surface.
You try to follow
but you’re both too tired.

Love? Still there.
Hope? Fading.
Connection? Drifting.

You scream without sound.
They scream too -
two people making noise neither one can hear.

Two hearts,
too heavy to hold each other,
too deep to breathe
but still reaching,
even as the current pulls you apart.

Above you, a life waits -
dry, warm, steady.
You both reach for it in your minds,
clutching at the image of laughter without weight,
touch without sinking,
love… without the water in between.

I notice it in the flicker of your eyes
how they brighten for others,
how laughter spills and smiles bloom so freely…
when it’s not with me.

With me,
you descend into silence,
a man of withheld words,
your thoughts locked away
like a house with curtains drawn.

I try to find myself in your quiet,
but it feels less like peace,
and more like absence.
A presence endured,
a tolerated shadow beside you.

And I can’t shake the feeling
that I’m only here
because leaving
would mean leaving her too.
That I’m the compromise,
the choice you endure
for the sake of your daughter.

So I move through our days
like a tenant awaiting eviction,
longing for a brightness in your gaze
that belongs only to me.

It hurts to wonder
if I’m desired
or simply a placeholder for the life you really want.
A body you settle beside
while your heart
wanders off without me.