I have built a shrine to you in my ribs,
lit candles behind my teeth,
burned every whispered thought like incense
and let the smoke of you fill my lungs.
But you don’t see it.
You don’t feel the weight of my hands
pressed together in silent prayer,
offering devotion to a god that does not answer.
You move like gravity,
pulling me in,
holding me just close enough
to taste what I will never touch.
I know this is not love.
Love is given, love is known, love is a bridge.
This is something else—
a ghost, a sickness, a dream that refuses to die
no matter how many times I wake up.
I have dissected every glance,
read scripture in the way you say my name,
built entire galaxies
out of the empty spaces between us.
You don’t know what it’s like
to live inside a story
that only plays in my head.
You don’t know what it’s like
to have your name carved into the marrow of my bones
where even time cannot touch it.
You don’t know what it’s like
to starve for a love that does not exist.
And still—
I keep the shrine.
I light the candles.
I kneel.
Because limerence is nothing
if not the worship of something
that was never real.
Mar 11, 2025
Mar 11, 2025 at 9:00 AM UTC
I have built a shrine to you in my ribs,
lit candles behind my teeth,
burned every whispered thought like incense
and let the smoke of you fill my lungs.
But you don’t see it.
You don’t feel the weight of my hands
pressed together in silent prayer,
offering devotion to a god that does not answer.
You move like gravity,
pulling me in,
holding me just close enough
to taste what I will never touch.
I know this is not love.
Love is given, love is known, love is a bridge.
This is something else—
a ghost, a sickness, a dream that refuses to die
no matter how many times I wake up.
I have dissected every glance,
read scripture in the way you say my name,
built entire galaxies
out of the empty spaces between us.
You don’t know what it’s like
to live inside a story
that only plays in my head.
You don’t know what it’s like
to have your name carved into the marrow of my bones
where even time cannot touch it.
You don’t know what it’s like
to starve for a love that does not exist.
And still—
I keep the shrine.
I light the candles.
I kneel.
Because limerence is nothing
if not the worship of something
that was never real.
Felt a little inspired by heartbreak again.
Request permission to use this poem