my brain doesn’t understand
that we have no right to exist.
and still, it conjures her —
lips burning from the kiss
where I forget
where I end
and she begins.

You loved me from the bottom of your heart,
And yet we were always apart.

I am a key, broken,
with no lock that fits me.

I lay at night with no one to hold.
I am missing that one touch.
Am I just too much—
too much, too little, too broken?

I am a broken key,
with no lock that fits me.

I lay at night, all alone.
I have so much love in my life,
but I miss that one vital part—
that element, that touch.

I feel so broken, so lost.
Am I so unlovable
that no one wants me?
Many loves,
but I am not
anyone’s special one.

I am a broken key,
with no lock that fits me.

i didn’t touch her.
 but the air
  between our hands
   folded
    like it once did
      when closeness
        meant undoing.

she left
 before the door shut.
but her presence,
 a tilt
  in the chair,
   a wrinkle
    on the bedsheet
remained,
 louder
  than any word.

you don’t forget
 the scent
  of not-touching.
you carry
  the warmth
   that never reached
    your shoulder.

i didn’t say goodbye.
but the room
 still hears
  her silence.

—

You reached with certainty, as if you'd studied my skin long before our hands ever touched. No fear. Just knowing.

We moved slow, not out of caution, but to taste every second like it was gospel poured from a cracked bottle.

You pressed against me, not hard, but whole. Chest to chest, breath syncing, a rhythm we didn’t learn but recognized in our bones.

Fingertips made circles, small and deliberate, as if they were writing scripture in flesh and memory. I answered in low vowels, open-palmed and unguarded.

The bed welcomed us, an altar already blessed, creased sheets echoing rituals, springs tuned to our rhythms.

Kisses landed where language failed, soft declarations etched into collarbones, the curve of spine, the held breath behind a quiet moan.

You whispered through clenched teeth, not out of restraint but reverence, as if the act itself demanded silence to be truly understood.

Limbs tangled, not in conquest, but in communion. What we shared had gravity, pulling confessions from every nerve, truths we hadn’t known we needed to speak.

When stillness found us, we lay in the wreckage of something beautifully undone, your pulse pressed into mine, our names somewhere in the ceiling where the echoes hadn’t quite settled.

We touched, the first time since... - Why do I feel so tearful?

At times, dwelling too deeply on what lies ahead
becomes the very weight that holds me back.
I believe in the grace of failure,
and in the quiet power of trying.
The universe whispers signs
and though i follow them,
I still wonder if they're real.
But maybe…
that doubt is allowed.