She's flying away
For good this time
Fells like we only just met.

You make heaven seem so dull
With your beautiful laugh
and tumeric juice.

You were never mine to lose,
Yet I lost you nun the less.

Entangled forever,  
until the tides forget to pull us apart.  

You soundly touched my soul,
And left no finger prints

We said goodbye,  
I wished you well.  
You said  It's just words.  

I knew That was the last time  
I calmed your flames.  

My deep blue waters are void again.

I wait at the lobby of your old apartment.
Just to remember how it felt to drop you off.

Riding in the rain seems a lot less fun.
Walks in the park a lot less nice.
And songs in the dark a lot less paradise.

I love you gently,
The only way I was allowed to.

I really hope you don't read this poem.
So we can stay goodbye.

Knowing you,
you'll have another one of your
Gut feelings and just know I do.

You're actually gone aren't you?

I laughed - not for likes,
but because the sky was kind
and the breeze felt honest.

I wore comfort,
not costume,
and danced without a soundtrack.

No mirrors.
No filters.
Just me,
at ease in my skin,
and joy
quiet as a secret,
loud as my heart.

You don’t notice it at first.
Not really.
Life keeps you busy with noise, with dreams, with the next thing.

But then one day,
you cross an invisible threshold.
There’s no signpost, no celebration
just the quiet erosion of what once mattered.

The body falters first.
Not dramatically - no, it’s more insidious than that.
You wake up sore from sleep.
You get winded climbing stairs you once ran.
You start measuring your days in energy, not hours.

Then come the dreams
the ones you clung to like anchors.
They begin to dissolve.
Some shrink into hobbies, others vanish with a sigh.
And the ones that remain?
Too fragile to chase, too old to birth.

Your beliefs shift too.
Not because they were wrong,
but because the world keeps insisting you make room for things
you once swore you’d never tolerate.

You adjust.
You settle.
You survive.

But the worst part
the part no one warns you about
is the people.

One by one,
they begin to leave.

Some give you time.
They let you prepare your goodbye.
Others vanish mid-conversation,
leaving cups half full and promises unfinished.

And what’s cruel is not just that they’re gone
it’s that nothing fills their space.
You try.
You pretend.
You build new connections like patchwork quilts.
But nothing fits quite right.

Because love, real love, isn’t replaced.
It’s carried
as ache,
as memory,
as absence you learn to walk around like a piece of furniture in the dark.

You keep going, of course.
What else can you do?
You make tea.
You water the plants.
You smile at strangers and nod at the sky like it still owes you something.

But deep down, you know:
This is what it means to age
not the wrinkles, not the gray.
It’s the slow, silent disappearing
of everything that once made you feel
alive.

The porch light clicks off behind me—
no ceremony,
no words wrapped in warmth,
just the hush of a door
never meant to stay open.

A moth dances in the dark.
I watch it,
wishing for wings
that don’t tear
in the cold.

My feet know this ache.
They’ve felt it before—
sidewalks splitting like dry lips,
a sky too wide
for someone so small.

I carry silence
in the crook of my arms,
like a child that won’t
stop crying.

The moon
presses its white face
against the windshield.
It doesn’t ask me to leave.

Every hour is a question
with no safe answer.
Where do I go
when even the night
runs out of room?

I’m tired
of learning the weight of keys
that don’t belong to me—
of knocking
on almosts.

If I disappear,
will the world blink?

Or will it just
keep driving?

There's a firework inside my head
Pulling me away from tasks
Begging me to rest
Slamming the doors to others

Maybe it's "me time" once again
Just me, and the quiet of being alone