Tangled in memories of open arms,
I used to melt into every embrace,
but now even a brush of skin
sends a shiver I can’t explain.

Once, touch felt like home,
a language spoken without words.
Now it lingers like an echo,
familiar yet distant, haunting me.

Underneath the discomfort,
there’s an ache I can’t name—
is it emptiness, is it longing,
or is it just him?

Clutching at air, at absence,
I tell myself I don’t need it,
but my body remembers
the last time I truly did.

Held for the last time,
three months and counting,
by the only arms that ever
felt like they wouldn’t let go.