I don’t understand why it feels so far away,
like the blue comforter I cried for, but you never gave me.
Wasn’t it supposed to be soft,
something to hold me when the nights felt endless?
Instead, I lay exposed beneath the weight of cold air,
wondering if I had asked for too much,
if the silence meant I wasn’t meant to be held.
Was it me, or was it everything else,
that made you keep it just out of reach?
And even now, I can’t help but wonder —
what would it have felt like to pull it close,
to finally be warm, and believe I belonged?
P.S.
It wasn’t just a blanket. It was the promise of safety, of care.
A small thing that could have meant I was seen,
that someone wanted me to feel whole.
But you didn’t give it to me, and I didn’t know why.
So I learned to sleep in the cold, convincing myself I didn’t need it,
but I never stopped aching for its warmth.
