What could hurt more
Than being left with a heart scorned,
When the door of love unknowingly closed
In silence, amidst the clattering storm?

Questions linger there,
With no one to answer or care,
Hanging on fire, waiting for a call,
Defying the pain of a broken fall.

Will there ever be recovery
From the tranquility of tragedy?
Or a gleam of hope
In the unlit space of a torn passion's trope?

We were two quantities, behaving opposite in nature,
Like pressure and volume, inversely proportional.
We compress and expand at constant temperature—
I expand further, you compress closer; inversely proportional.

You are the R in the Ideal Gas Law's equation,
My constant, my ever-faithful solution.
Yet we aren't truly the ideal gas it seeks to ponder,
For we attract rather than repel one another.

You were the 0.0821,
The constant in PV = nRT.
Increasing in my mind, you remain the only one—
Steadfast in my heart, you will always be loved by me.

I tried to hide,
Despite the anticipation
Of wanting to see you.
But it wasn’t really hiding, I guess—
Just the adrenaline rush I felt
After seeing your ever-familiar face.

Whilst hiding,
And waiting for whatever you might guess,
You entered the scene and left me flabbergasted.
I froze, with a smile and a weary mind,
Stuck between wanting to run toward you
And away from you.