I obsessed over soap bubbles when I was a child:

how they dance in the wind, beautiful and wild;

so free, so perfect, but disappearing too fast,

and you're no different - too quickly our time has passed.

Like sand through my fingers, you're slipping away

I can't think of an excuse to make you stay

other than the reasons I dare not tell,

so I let you go, silent in my hell.


Even when you're not around, you're always in my head,

Overthinking everything: how you acted, what you said;

Looking for a hint, grasping at straws,

ignoring the doubt, evading its claws.

I'm happier not knowing, I'm too afraid

to break this glass castle my poems have made.

And so, like sand through an hourglass,

our time together continues to pass.

Never enough time, never enough sand,

I keep staring at my now empty hand.