he asks me, “where did you come from?”
as if he cannot believe I stand before him,
some version of a dream he once had
about a woman he would one day love.
like I am an apparition, suddenly appeared,
as if it’s the first day of my life — or maybe his.

I tell him, “I crawled from the pits of hell,”
with a smile, like it’s a cute joke,
but there’s truth laced in the teasing.
because I was forged in fire so hot
it melted the joy from my heart
and choked the breath from my lungs.

I did claw my way out of despair.
and though I’ve dusted off my shoulders,
there’s still dirt buried under my nails.
I am the blacksmith of my own steel,
molded into a blade sharp enough to cut throats —
or to slice fruit from the tree
and feed you with gentle hands.

and maybe that’s why he looks at me in awe,
afraid that I will vanish as quickly as I appeared.
so he leaves first — suddenly, in the morning —
walking away as if distance
will save him from catching fire,
as if loving me will turn him to ash.

but my fire leaves embers in the blood.
he will carry the taste of me on his tongue,
my breath stitched into the seams of his memory.
and one night —
when the world is quiet and the air tastes of smoke,
he will find himself at the edge of the pit,
looking for my light.

Goodbye.
A final farewell to a chapter that’s ending.
A word that many consider permanent
A word that is everlasting

If we want temporary,
Trying replacing with see you later.

That way the door is left open
That way the chapter hasn’t ended
The page hasn’t turned

That way I know you aren’t finished with me.

god, i wish
we could revert time
to the moment
before i hurt you,
to the moment
before my bones knew
what it felt like
to carry the weight
of a heart cracked open.

but i need to
remind myself
why i pulled away,
and why i’ll never
beg you back
into my life,
into the wreckage
i barely escaped.

i wear his shirt,
long-sleeve, pale grey,
too wide at the wrist.
it still smells like him.
like oak, sleep, fresh rain
and the breath before the kiss.

i'm terrified.
that my own scent
will settle, and claim
what history stitched.

i'm holding onto it,
as if this is the last embrace
he'll ever give me.
maybe it is.

in a single moment, the air shifted,
a pause divided us like halves of a whispered thought.
twice I looked back, unsure if the weight was mine or yours.
the path curved subtly, three strides into the unknown.

words gathered like constellations,
four faint stars too dim to guide me.
a breath fell, quiet as a fifth note,
lost in the unplayed melody of your silence.

shadows stretched their six-arm embrace,
holding nothing but absence,
seven steps echoed against stone —
I didn’t know whose they were.

time unraveled, caught between eight threads of memory,
fraying into a ninth and final ache.
by the tenth grace, i knew.
You had already turned away..

she’s standing next to me
the riffs crawl slowly
under her skin,
tunes reaching
something long buried
within.

the sky thickens
with sentient air —
as if we’re sitting
in a drive-through
watching us on the screen.

even the town
is under her spell,
its nightlife dimmed,
and out of the way.

she smells like
imponderable winter air.
with a glance,
she lifts me up
and breaks me
in one breath.

her eyes —
the sea after storm.
my gaze drifts
to her mouth.
her words linger,
honey-crumbed,
after a bite.

a phone chimes —
mine.
i know
i have to go.

‘find your way back to me,’
i think.
i hope.

my heart aches,
she feels it, too.
i’m not ready
to say goodbye.

but i do.

Everything...
Is temporary.
And I alone carry this burden in which
No one—NO ONE
Can understand.

They don’t know!
That while they laugh
I cling to every note, keeping them like fireflies in a jar,
For looms the morn where darkness fills my ears
And their faces run like chalk in the rain

They don’t know
How actions feel brittle like seashells—
Their impacts; meaningless.
Their tomorrows, as far as the moon
For the future they create
I will not be there for it

They don’t know
What life beyond the train is like
But I do—raised in the fields blurring past
As I stare out the window knowing that
Soon I will no longer journey with them
Oh how even joy cuts sharp
when you know it won't last.

They don’t know
How I rehearse my farewell

They don’t know
They don’t know
They don’t know
And I can’t tell them

this poem, honey, is all you’ll get –
not out of cruelty,
but fear.
every time i opened the door,
you’d flinch,
step back,
and leave me
with unsaid words,
and cruel bitterness.

sleep-heavy eyes, my hand reaches for you
then flinches – you’re nowhere in view.
the imagined shape only a breath ago
fled like a bandit
into dawn’s dissolving glow.
now my waking mind falters,
disappointment finds the door
through which you chose to leave –
once more.