We are told to move on,
as if love and ties were train and station,
the heart a passenger
who must board the next departure
without looking back one last time.
"Move on"—this hurried, absurd, frivolous command—
to demarcate between yesterday and today with a loose thread,
to pretend the cloth was never woven.
The past is not a burden to drop.
Memories are not chains to chop.
They are lanterns that pierced the darkest penumbra,
laughter that slaughtered our ribs,
reminding us what joy feels like
with the slightest warm horripilation.
Her voice—
the susurrus that refuses to fade.
And yet…
is she truly good enough to leave?
This woman who painted mornings on dull daylight,
who knew the exact weight of pale silence—
does she deserve to be folded, discarded
into a drawer of old letters and souvenirs,
out of sight, out of sentence, out of memory?
Tell me,
if moving on is wisdom,
why does the heart keep circling back
Wanting to go once it called home?
I feel loved even in my solitude,
gazing at her old photograph,
letting her live her best—
because the susurrus refuses to fade.....
Jan 1
Jan 1, 2026 at 11:04 AM UTC
We are told to move on,
as if love and ties were train and station,
the heart a passenger
who must board the next departure
without looking back one last time.
"Move on"—this hurried, absurd, frivolous command—
to demarcate between yesterday and today with a loose thread,
to pretend the cloth was never woven.
The past is not a burden to drop.
Memories are not chains to chop.
They are lanterns that pierced the darkest penumbra,
laughter that slaughtered our ribs,
reminding us what joy feels like
with the slightest warm horripilation.
Her voice—
the susurrus that refuses to fade.
And yet…
is she truly good enough to leave?
This woman who painted mornings on dull daylight,
who knew the exact weight of pale silence—
does she deserve to be folded, discarded
into a drawer of old letters and souvenirs,
out of sight, out of sentence, out of memory?
Tell me,
if moving on is wisdom,
why does the heart keep circling back
Wanting to go once it called home?
I feel loved even in my solitude,
gazing at her old photograph,
letting her live her best—
because the susurrus refuses to fade.....
#Love #Onesided