Oct 28
It took you ten days to ruin my life,
In the most tragically beautiful way.
I regret nothing,
For you have shown me everything,
And yet, there’s still more to learn.
I see you everywhere, in everything—
All the little things bring me joy,
beauty, and love.
You are my muse.
All these things and more,
I want to share, with you,
But for now, I will have to show
your Ghost.
The first ten minutes of every twilight morning since,
I could almost convince myself,
you’re still here.
The pillows in the night
shift just so, and feel like
my head on your chest,
entwined—feet, legs, arms, hands, fingers—
until I reach out
and remember,
you’re a Ghost.
The last ten minutes of each dragging day
are the hardest.
Darkness is comforting;
for in the dark, your Ghost still looks back,
unyielding, vivid, carried forward,
with every breath
I take.
I’ll wait for ten thousand years,
but, hopefully,
it doesn’t take that long.
In the most tragically beautiful way.
I regret nothing,
For you have shown me everything,
And yet, there’s still more to learn.
I see you everywhere, in everything—
All the little things bring me joy,
beauty, and love.
You are my muse.
All these things and more,
I want to share, with you,
But for now, I will have to show
your Ghost.
The first ten minutes of every twilight morning since,
I could almost convince myself,
you’re still here.
The pillows in the night
shift just so, and feel like
my head on your chest,
entwined—feet, legs, arms, hands, fingers—
until I reach out
and remember,
you’re a Ghost.
The last ten minutes of each dragging day
are the hardest.
Darkness is comforting;
for in the dark, your Ghost still looks back,
unyielding, vivid, carried forward,
with every breath
I take.
I’ll wait for ten thousand years,
but, hopefully,
it doesn’t take that long.
This poem is born from the spaces between two people, the quiet echo of heartbreak that lingers in places once shared. It explores the sensation of missing someone so deeply that their presence becomes woven into the everyday: in fleeting moments, in darkness, and in the ordinary beauty of life. It’s about carrying someone’s absence, haunted by memories that refuse to fade.
At its core, an ache that refuses to be buried—a feeling of waiting, hoping against time itself that the memory of love could bring them back, if only for a moment.
At its core, an ache that refuses to be buried—a feeling of waiting, hoping against time itself that the memory of love could bring them back, if only for a moment.
