I didn't know longing until I couldn't find words anymore in a poem, my heart was once a vessel, it carries the abundance of love and death, but now it is an animosity of a futile hollow bearing the long gone memory of my craft.

it's like I wake up on the other side of the bed, it feels like it's someone else's now; the warmth, the scent, and on how their body leaves a mark, an indentation to it.

I've been a different person now, I didn't stay in the bookshop like I used to do, I just watch the people passed by through coffee shops like it's their routine or it's just the time continuously goes by without us knowing, everybody left. I seek shed in the slow burn moment love than to a fervent storm of it, that crashes all the halls I've long built; It's a deep shame to take what's mine.