There’s a tidepool behind my heart, small and silver in the evening's breath. Not deep, but torn in every part holding you close, keeping your death.
A cracked ring lies in the brine, still warm with what we never said. A memory flickers, out of time, like candlelight around the bed.
***** click like clocks inside my chest, marking hours I can’t reclaim. Anemones bloom with soft unrest, each one uncurling saying your name.
The tide recedes but leaves it all— your cologne, your smirk, a Polaroid of our crowd. A sea-star clings against the wall, where everything we built has fallen down.
No current comes to pull it free, this shallow grave of silent songs. But I return religiously, to worship where your ghost belongs.
So yeah, the moon looks on forever marred, but this is where I rot instead. In the tidepool of a love too hard, where nothing lives, but nothing's dead.