In her sea of unrequited love I am flotsam—
not even wreckage with a story,
just something left behind,
adrift.

She is the water that carries me,
cool and untouchable,
vast and shining,
indifferent to the fragments she holds.

I do not sink—
that would be release.
I float,
caught in eddies of hope,
drawn near by a glance,
pushed away by silence.

There is no harbour,
no shore with arms outstretched.
Only the endless drift
beneath skies that never speak,
toward nothing,
from everything I once believed.

I am the forgotten,
the unchosen,
the still-loyal shard of something
she never meant to keep—
But can’t quite let go