I would rather hold half of you
than lose the rest.
Half your words,
half your touch,
is better than silence,
better than the void
that threatens to consume me whole.
I would rather stumble blind into sharp edges,
press my hands to the wounds,
and call it love,
than face a world
where your shadow no longer lingers.
I would find you
in the center of my breaking,
in the pulse of my pain,
and though it shatters me,
I would stay still.
Take half of me,
and I will give you everything—
even the parts that ache.
Trace the crimson rivers
that spill quietly from my heart,
love bleeding out slowly,
but willingly.
I drift into the mirage of you,
collapsing into the hollow spaces
where you once stood.
Half is all you give.
Half is all I take.
Half is all I need—
because it’s still you.
Leave me in the quiet corners,
where I crumble like autumn leaves,
waiting for the wind of your presence
to gather me again.
And when you return,
give me half.
Half a glance,
half a moment,
just enough to remind me
that I still exist
in the orbit of your world.
Hold me—not the way I need,
but just enough
to make me forget
how little of you I truly have.
Half of you feels like drowning,
and yet, without it,
I cannot breathe.
Half a word,
half a touch,
and I take it silently.
Because even half a pain
that belongs to you
feels like everything
I was meant to endure.
Your absence is a shadow,
stretching across my days,
but even shadows are proof
that light once touched me.
And I hold on to that light,
even when it burns.
I wait for the day
when your half becomes whole,
when you see the pieces of me
scattered at your feet
and choose to pick them up.
Even broken, even halved,
you are the only truth I have ever known.
The only ache
I would choose again,
and again,
and again.
Even if it means losing myself
in the spaces you leave behind.