I’ve been starving in love.
Not the kind of hunger that rumbles in your belly,
but the kind that lives behind your ribs
the kind that hums at night
when the world gets quiet enough
for your loneliness to sound like thunder.
See, I’ve been dining on the echoes of what used to be,
licking the residue of your affection off my fingers,
pretending that crumbs of attention
can fill the hollowness that your distance carved into me.
You used to feed me words that tasted like warmth,
sentences so tender they melted on my tongue,
and I believed that was nourishment.
Now I’m chewing on silence
and it doesn’t go down easy.
You ever been so hungry for love
that even the memory of it feels like a meal?
Like, I can still smell you in the air,
still taste the laughter we left unfinished,
but it doesn’t feed me anymore.
It just teases
like standing in a kitchen full of your favorite food
but the stove’s off,
and the recipe’s lost,
and all you’ve got left is the ache of what could’ve been.
I’ve learned that starvation doesn’t always mean dying.
Sometimes it just means waiting.
Waiting for someone to notice the emptiness in your eyes
and ask,
“When’s the last time you were full?”
But you don’t ask.
You don’t see how I ration my words now,
how I cut my vulnerability into bite-sized pieces,
afraid to serve too much,
afraid you’ll push away from the table again.
I’ve begged the moon for scraps of your light,
let my heart become a stray dog
circling the door of your indifference,
tail tucked,
hope trembling.
And still
I wait.
You ever love somebody so much
you forget what being fed feels like?
You call the hunger devotion,
you call the ache poetry,
you call the emptiness us.
But I’m done fasting for love
that doesn’t feed me.
I want a love that sets the table,
that serves honesty and tenderness hot,
that doesn’t let me starve in silence
while calling it patience.
Because I deserve to be full.
Not bloated with promises
but nourished by presence.
Fed by truth.
Satisfied by someone who knows
that love isn’t meant to leave you starving
it’s meant to taste like home.
Oct 8, 2025
Oct 8, 2025 at 9:45 PM UTC
I’ve been starving in love.
Not the kind of hunger that rumbles in your belly,
but the kind that lives behind your ribs
the kind that hums at night
when the world gets quiet enough
for your loneliness to sound like thunder.
See, I’ve been dining on the echoes of what used to be,
licking the residue of your affection off my fingers,
pretending that crumbs of attention
can fill the hollowness that your distance carved into me.
You used to feed me words that tasted like warmth,
sentences so tender they melted on my tongue,
and I believed that was nourishment.
Now I’m chewing on silence
and it doesn’t go down easy.
You ever been so hungry for love
that even the memory of it feels like a meal?
Like, I can still smell you in the air,
still taste the laughter we left unfinished,
but it doesn’t feed me anymore.
It just teases
like standing in a kitchen full of your favorite food
but the stove’s off,
and the recipe’s lost,
and all you’ve got left is the ache of what could’ve been.
I’ve learned that starvation doesn’t always mean dying.
Sometimes it just means waiting.
Waiting for someone to notice the emptiness in your eyes
and ask,
“When’s the last time you were full?”
But you don’t ask.
You don’t see how I ration my words now,
how I cut my vulnerability into bite-sized pieces,
afraid to serve too much,
afraid you’ll push away from the table again.
I’ve begged the moon for scraps of your light,
let my heart become a stray dog
circling the door of your indifference,
tail tucked,
hope trembling.
And still
I wait.
You ever love somebody so much
you forget what being fed feels like?
You call the hunger devotion,
you call the ache poetry,
you call the emptiness us.
But I’m done fasting for love
that doesn’t feed me.
I want a love that sets the table,
that serves honesty and tenderness hot,
that doesn’t let me starve in silence
while calling it patience.
Because I deserve to be full.
Not bloated with promises
but nourished by presence.
Fed by truth.
Satisfied by someone who knows
that love isn’t meant to leave you starving
it’s meant to taste like home.
