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For_My_DinoPoems
For months, I woke to a good morning from the favourite person in my life. Now I wake trembling at my own shadow, wondering if she is safe, wondering how heavy her heart must feel tonight. And I know this distance is for her safety. I know silence can sometimes protect what love cannot reach. Yet God, how cruel it is to become isolated from the only soul you spoke to more than yourself. We went from sixteen hours of conversation and eight hours of dreaming of each other, to only three hours of restless sleep and the rest spent grieving someone who is still alive. Because she is not gone. She is not lost. She never betrayed anybody, never broke hearts, never carried cruelty in her hands. She only loved softly. Too softly for a world that fears tenderness this much. And knowing someone this perfect exists ruins peace entirely. Because once your heart learns what home feels like, everything else becomes unbearable silence. Breathing itself feels incomplete without her somewhere within reach. And the little things I was getting for her preparing perfections, still sit untouched, like unfinished sentences. A swan pendant. A duck plush I asked about so carefully. Tiny gifts carrying enormous love, left waiting for hands they may never reach. Even the reason behind the question remains suspended halfway in the air, like our story itself. Half spoken. Half held. Half stolen by the world before it could fully bloom.
0
4d ago
May 30, 2026 at 9:31 AM UTC
S
For months, I woke to a good morning from the favourite person in my life. Now I wake trembling at my own shadow, wondering if she is safe, wondering how heavy her heart must feel tonight. And I know this distance is for her safety. I know silence can sometimes protect what love cannot reach. Yet God, how cruel it is to become isolated from the only soul you spoke to more than yourself. We went from sixteen hours of conversation and eight hours of dreaming of each other, to only three hours of restless sleep and the rest spent grieving someone who is still alive. Because she is not gone. She is not lost. She never betrayed anybody, never broke hearts, never carried cruelty in her hands. She only loved softly. Too softly for a world that fears tenderness this much. And knowing someone this perfect exists ruins peace entirely. Because once your heart learns what home feels like, everything else becomes unbearable silence. Breathing itself feels incomplete without her somewhere within reach. And the little things I was getting for her preparing perfections, still sit untouched, like unfinished sentences. A swan pendant. A duck plush I asked about so carefully. Tiny gifts carrying enormous love, left waiting for hands they may never reach. Even the reason behind the question remains suspended halfway in the air, like our story itself. Half spoken. Half held. Half stolen by the world before it could fully bloom.
Written by
For_My_Dino
18
4d ago
May 30, 2026 at 9:31 AM UTC
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