I built a future out of pixels,
stitched your name into my mornings,
fed the silence with good intentions
like it would one day speak back.
You said wait,
like time was a test I could pass
if I just stood still long enough
to prove I was worth arriving for.
I believed you.
God, I believed you
like a man believes in gravity
right up until the moment he falls.
I sent pieces of myself across oceans
disguised as gifts,
coins dressed as care,
effort wrapped in humour,
a whale, a joke, a signal
only we were meant to understand.
Tinapa.
Ridiculous how something so small
could mean so much to me,
and so little to you.
You never asked,
and that was the cleanest part of it.
No fingerprints on the weapon,
no confession needed.
Just a slow disappearance
that made me question
whether I imagined the whole thing.
I saw you laughing where I couldn’t reach,
dancing like I wasn’t watching,
alive in rooms
where I didn’t exist.
And I stayed silent.
Because what kind of man
begs to be seen
by someone who already looked away?
Your friends said I was good.
Said I cared.
Said I gave you everything.
Funny how praise sounds like eulogies
when the person’s still breathing.
You said maybe one day,
2028, like love could be scheduled
between flights and fantasy.
Like I’d still be here
waiting at the edge of a screen
for a version of you
that only existed when I wasn’t there.
I thought you were the one.
Not “maybe.”
Not “we’ll see.”
I had you in a dress,
had us in a room full of witnesses,
had your name sitting next to mine
like it belonged there.
All of it.
Built on nothing
but voice,
timing,
and hope that
never got confirmed.
And now I sit here
with a silence so loud
it feels like punishment.
Not for loving you.
But for believing
you loved me back
in the same language.
You didn’t break me in one moment.
You just…
stopped holding your end
of something I never realised
I was carrying alone.
I’m still here.
That’s the part that annoys me.
Still breathing,
still remembering,
still trying to make sense
of a story that doesn’t
want an ending.
Maybe that’s the truth of it.
Not that you were heartless.
Not that I was foolish.
Just that I gave real
weight to something
that never had to carry me.
And now I have to learn
how to put it down.
Apr 28
Apr 28, 2026 at 6:05 PM UTC
I built a future out of pixels,
stitched your name into my mornings,
fed the silence with good intentions
like it would one day speak back.
You said wait,
like time was a test I could pass
if I just stood still long enough
to prove I was worth arriving for.
I believed you.
God, I believed you
like a man believes in gravity
right up until the moment he falls.
I sent pieces of myself across oceans
disguised as gifts,
coins dressed as care,
effort wrapped in humour,
a whale, a joke, a signal
only we were meant to understand.
Tinapa.
Ridiculous how something so small
could mean so much to me,
and so little to you.
You never asked,
and that was the cleanest part of it.
No fingerprints on the weapon,
no confession needed.
Just a slow disappearance
that made me question
whether I imagined the whole thing.
I saw you laughing where I couldn’t reach,
dancing like I wasn’t watching,
alive in rooms
where I didn’t exist.
And I stayed silent.
Because what kind of man
begs to be seen
by someone who already looked away?
Your friends said I was good.
Said I cared.
Said I gave you everything.
Funny how praise sounds like eulogies
when the person’s still breathing.
You said maybe one day,
2028, like love could be scheduled
between flights and fantasy.
Like I’d still be here
waiting at the edge of a screen
for a version of you
that only existed when I wasn’t there.
I thought you were the one.
Not “maybe.”
Not “we’ll see.”
I had you in a dress,
had us in a room full of witnesses,
had your name sitting next to mine
like it belonged there.
All of it.
Built on nothing
but voice,
timing,
and hope that
never got confirmed.
And now I sit here
with a silence so loud
it feels like punishment.
Not for loving you.
But for believing
you loved me back
in the same language.
You didn’t break me in one moment.
You just…
stopped holding your end
of something I never realised
I was carrying alone.
I’m still here.
That’s the part that annoys me.
Still breathing,
still remembering,
still trying to make sense
of a story that doesn’t
want an ending.
Maybe that’s the truth of it.
Not that you were heartless.
Not that I was foolish.
Just that I gave real
weight to something
that never had to carry me.
And now I have to learn
how to put it down.
