I never touched his hand or face,
Yet loved him in a sacred space.
A bond built not on skin or sight,
But whispered words in quiet night.
He changed not slowly, not with years.
But in the hush between our tears.
It wasn’t time that drew the line,
It was the silence, cold, divine.
I try to hate him, and I do,
The stranger that he faded to.
But still I ache for who he was.
The version lost without a cause.
No final word, no last goodbye,
Just echoes where his truths would lie.
I loved a ghost, a voice, a flame.
Now all that’s left’s a hollow name.
Oct 16, 2025
Oct 16, 2025 at 11:10 PM UTC
I never touched his hand or face,
Yet loved him in a sacred space.
A bond built not on skin or sight,
But whispered words in quiet night.
He changed not slowly, not with years.
But in the hush between our tears.
It wasn’t time that drew the line,
It was the silence, cold, divine.
I try to hate him, and I do,
The stranger that he faded to.
But still I ache for who he was.
The version lost without a cause.
No final word, no last goodbye,
Just echoes where his truths would lie.
I loved a ghost, a voice, a flame.
Now all that’s left’s a hollow name.