I feel the distance,
a growing expanse
between where we stand,
and where we used to be.
A little piece of you
slips away each day,
and with it, a part of me.

My words, meant as bridges,
sometimes fall short,
missing the mark,
lost in the vastness.
I try to weave tapestries
of love, comfort, and desire,
but they seem to unravel
before they reach you.

This isn't the final chapter,
but the erosion is real.
It gnaws at the edges
of my being,
a constant reminder
of the space between us.
In the quiet of the night,
the cold and the loneliness
become a heavy blanket.

I search for the light,
the warmth that once flowed freely,
but a cloak of despair
seems to thicken,
obscuring everything.
My voice, it seems,
doesn't carry far enough,
or perhaps it's the wrong melody,
a dissonance
that may have caused hurt.

I tell you that you are seen,
valued, exquisite, complex.
I whisper of my love,
but the voices of anxiety
in your world
seem to drown me out.
I fear my words
are lost in the noise,
unheard, unheeded.

I long for you to see me,
as I see you.
To feel me,
as I feel you.
To bridge this chasm
that stretches between us.
Tell me the truth,
even if it's the hardest truth.
I need to know,
so I can find my way back,
or find my way forward,
without losing myself
completely.