Gone
but not really.
I'm still here,
yet slowly losing grip
not intentionally,
but because you're pushing me

And if I perish,
I shall perish beautifully

Like a star
losing its core's fuel
Bursting in a wondrous death

I muttered a word,
wishing you had heard,
like a simple prayer
carried on the air,
hoping you'd feel it somewhere,
full of love, soft and rare.

I opened my eyes,  
Searching for light in the dark.  
A nightmare had bound me,  
Cold as ice where I lay.  

I blinked once,  
Then a few times more.  
There it was—  
Light, peeking through a distant door.  

My legs, weak from frost,  
Urged me to crawl.  
I needn’t open the door to see—  
A man stood outside, waiting for me.  

Tears fell, uncontrollably,  
Like it had been stored  
In a reservoir of longing and affection,  
Yearning to be reached.  

The familiar stranger smiled at me.  
His eyes looked sad but entirely happy,  
Like he'd been waiting for this moment,  
After years of life in torment.  

He held out his hand.  
I lifted mine.  
The moment they touched,  
I woke—and he was gone

The year is ending in one month
But mine ended that one day in October

I’ll be right here
when you get here

A four-cornered quiet room,
grey with an atmosphere of gloom
a cold, so familiar I've grown to know,
welcomed me like it's my home.

On and off, I switched the light on
yet it flickered like it lost an ohm
it hurt my eyes for some reason
still, the pain felt like it's my home.

As the thud of blade fell on the floor
and my skin felt the rush of ichor,
peace echoed, my eyes closed like a dome
finally, I said
I'm home

Wrapped in a thick, warm sweater,
Beneath the icy-cold weather,
All of a sudden, we collide,
A meeting blown by the bitter-sweet tide.

The cold had kept us worlds apart,
Like frozen rivers, stilled at heart.
I held a million words to say,
Yet fear kept them quietly tucked away.

But warmth sneaks with each reply,
Like sunlight breaking a wintry sky.
Are you truly here to start anew,
Or just a breeze that drifts, passing through?

How can a man
be worthy of thousands of words—
a poem, a novel,
or sweet love letters?

How can a young woman
pour her heart into a thousand words—
a poem, a novel,
or sweet love letters—
for someone,
a man like him,
who doesn't even care
to read any of it?

Still can't believe
how easy it is for you
to be all okay
knowing you've
broken every part of me
that did nothing
but to love you
always, in all ways