What isn't consumed must be carried.
What you leave behind will always still count.

Crumbs gather
at the corners of my mouth.
Lips pursing,
I'll name it progress.

But the body will digest
what the mind can't push down.

So…
Is this feeling clarity,
or is it relapse?

Oh well.
On my plate,
I can still only stomach half.

I gave you  
half-full cups—  
to you, overflowing.  

I gave you  
measured warmth.  
Wrapped it in pretty,  
promised it was real.  

I called you  
gentle  
so I could become it.  

You brought me morning,  
the good kind,
and time I didn't earn.

You gave me home,
a stillness,
and hands that didn't ask.

I brought you mirrors.  
You stayed.  
I flinched.  

I don’t wish to hurt you.  
Only to leave gently,  
and that is still  
a kind of cruelty—  
to be kind.  

Even now,  
I measure sweetness  
in what we almost were.  

And still—  

My love,
I love
you, love,
not enough.

Leave a message!
I can’t answer now...
or later.

I couldn’t even have then.

I just forget your voice
sometimes.

In glimmering,
lingering,
longing
glances,

I seem to
revisit how we met.

This is our season, remember?

This was our season,
remember.

Pull me through the winds,
Strip the velvet clean.
Tie me to the evening
Where you know the sun won’t lean.

Hollowed out my seasons,
Left the orchard bare.
Begging, “Love me like the shadows
Fading in the air.”

Pressed me to the heather,
Root my tongue to stone,
Watch the river splinter,
Pull apart the bone.

You stitched my name to thunder,
Even wrote it in the blue.
Shielding all and every echo
Until there’s only you.

Whatever you are,
I must be too.