i forgot what i looked like.
or maybe i never knew.
maybe i've only ever been
a pile of edits
a draft that never made it to final form.
too many versions—
none of them true.

but all of them hated.
every.
single.
one.

i watched myself
like a villain watches the hero
waiting for the failure.
my eyes burned holes
in every reflection
with rage
or fear
or something worse—
that quiet, creeping disgust
that never announces itself
but settles in your bones
like mold.

my body shifted.
again.
again.
again.

the scale moved.
the mirror warped.
the lines on my face turned corners
i don’t remember drawing.

i became
a blur.
a glitch.
a shape i didn’t sign off on.

and standing there,
what’s left—
just a sad mountain
of a hopeless woman
whose only consistent feature
is her pain.

those eyes,
always those eyes.

a flicker of hope once—
turned
to shame
turned
to silence
turned
to a stare
that says
"you’re still not enough."

but those eyes?
i’d know them anywhere.
i’d recognize that hurt
in any body
on any planet
in any lifetime
and still
call it
me.

Through summer sun
and salted air,
I felt your presence
everywhere.

Affection tingled
across my skin—
a bond unbroken,
through thick and thin.

Your heart clung close
like beads of sweat,
a melody hummed
I can’t forget.

Dripping wet,
I held you tight—
a shield from heat,
from harsh daylight.

A love too cool
to brave the chill,
too bright to last,
yet lingers still.

I let myself
forget the rule:
what blooms in sun
won’t weather cool.

And as the breeze
began to bite,
you slipped away—
out of my sight.

A bond once deep
began to crack,
a fading echo
I can’t call back.

A ruined goodbye,
a silent slide—
we drifted into
separate sides.

Now love remains
in hallway glances,
half-turned heads,
a thousand chances.

We share a ghost
of what once burned,
a summer lesson
never learned.

And though I knew
you’d never call—
you were my love,
the one to vanish
with the fall.

You are the greatest blessing in my life.

I know not greater pain
than realizing,
others feel you too.

They hold you.
They know you.

You are not mine.

You were never mine.

The rays of the sun
splash across your face—
so familiar,
so known,
yet somehow
so incredibly far away.

Angel kisses
dance along your skin,
cheeks flushed
with shades of cerise.

Your smile is my haven
from dark, from light,
from every shade of confusion.

I find comfort in your eyes,
losing myself
in the waves of ocean within them.

Not even the gods themselves
have held such beauty.
What a masterpiece
the world has made in you.

My usual jealous eyes
are clouded by amazement.
All I can do is hope
you'll let me stare
a little longer.

And still—
I can’t help but despise the thought
that others get to feel this too,
that you make them
feel
so.

Laughter once spilled
like sunlight through open windows,
soft and golden,
filling the hollow spaces of my chest.

The voices of youth—
giggling, unburdened—
still hum faintly through my bones,
flickering like old film reels.

Scraped knees,
mud-caked elbows,
tiny monuments to freedom.
Hair wild with wind,
skin kissed by the scent of fresh air,
the perfume of dew-drenched mornings.

I remember
dandelions clenched in small fists,
wishes whispered into seeds
and surrendered to the breeze.

Carelessness wasn’t recklessness then—
it was trust.
Safety.
A world made soft
by the certainty of love.

Imagination bloomed
without apology,
colors spilling past the lines
of every made-up story.

And always—
my mother’s hand in mine,
steady, warm,
a shield from the cold machinery
of the grown-up world.

Now—
the silence is louder.
The world, sharper.
The sky, farther away.

And I wonder,
quietly, aching:

Where did it go—
that weightless world
before the fall?

Ticking.
Time is running out.
I am losing control.

The hands spin faster—
I scramble
to keep it together,
to silence the chaos.

But the ringing in my ears
drowns every thought.
That incessant,
unforgiving:

Tick
  Tick
    Tick

It drives me mad,
twists my mind into knots.
I can’t breathe.
I’m running
out of
time—

I...

Trembling—
not just from the cold,
but from the weight you bore,
far more than any young heart
was ever meant to carry.

They shared their pain
but never asked about yours.

You were silenced
with words like,
"You’re too young to be sad,"
and
"Just wait until you see the real world."

So you began to doubt your ache,
questioning the shape of your sorrow.

Why do I feel this way?
Why am I not allowed?

Their trauma,
your own,
all packed into a space
never meant to hold so much.

You held it in.
Tried to hold it all together.
Became a vessel of grief
they refused to see.