i remember
a memory —
it isn't mine.
someone else's.

being the kid we used to be
(yes, i'm writing it in their pov)
we drank lemonade under the summer sun,
watched the bulb in the sky brighten,
heard the promises of forever
where no voice resonated.

echoes of my woes
learned to yearn within these walls.

it's a contrast: sweet, distant, aching.
have you ever heard of feeling nothing —
like the silence after chaos,
a void so deep,
there seems to be nothing it's composed of at all?
an absence that has screamed louder since its presence.

i listen to skyfall as i write,
and no, the sky hasn't fallen —
but it seems it would have felt better if it did.
a way to express what i feel deep inside,
since the breaking.

there are regrets.
like a flower blooms under the sun,
my regret bloomed under the skin of love,
whispered between lines,
composed of all the maybes it could have been —
the ideas, the fantasies,
versions of you that never came to just be.

perhaps i'd dreamt different —
not of someone,
but of how things seemed to me.

but it's nighttime, and i sit,
and like a building collapsing, i think —
stars falling, heavens opening, illusions crashing,
my heart strengthening.
it rubs painfully against the chest — or so.
i wish it hurt just a little bit more,
for i feel it tends to lack intensity.

how you simply waved a goodbye —
i felt it like waves in the sea.
yours was late, brief —
mine drowned, delivered me to the ending.

i have my window open.
i'll try to describe the night sky.
it still seems impossible,
like it did that night.

the stars — they watched me silently.
maybe they witnessed the fall as well.
and then i wondered —
did i even know it all that well?

maybe they were the lovers who never made it home.
maybe they were the parallels to what was meant to be alone.
i kinda hoped it'd be one way —
either you'd become a star, or me, or us together.
and whoever remained would have watched it
as we grew old together.

alas, what remains of it now?
the memories, the hauntings —
are they simply the nothings in between the heavier things?

wave after wave,
they take me with them,
bring me back
to where i began.

we were kids once,
with lemonade hearts —
not the sugary kind,
but the one filled with zest and a spark.

the sky remembers all that i've forgotten.
the same track on repeat —
i wish i'd heard it the night that brought me to hit rock bottom.

i want to write and write and write
and let it devour you and me
and all the eyes that ponder over these words whole.

for that nothing
felt like everything for a moment.

and i can't believe
you missed out
on becoming the lovers —
the ones i dreamt for us to be.



that was indeed just the end, then.

like the sounds of tires on gravel
when the track twists just right —
hold—wait—stop—
i need to catch up to my memories.
but what of all the ones you left with?
bled into them: the last gaze, the lasting wounds.
oh, look — it crumbled.

had you promised to stay
and followed it through,
i'd have torn the sky apart
with bare hands,
set ablaze all those who came in our path.
but alas, easy way out —
i saw nothing (that was enough then),
never saw beyond you
(but now i see all of you).

and i shall wash away,
off the shore, at the edge of the boat.
i shall let go and watch.
you've slipped from my hands
like dust in between fingers.
the sandglass broke,
so did the beats at which my heart spoke.
i wish you the best.
i shall hope you find rest
in places that aren't filled with me.

it's a closure,
it's my closure —
turns out,
that's all i've ever seeked.

There’s a parachute stitched into my eyes— soft silk holding
nothing, as I watch myself freefalling into an empty space
The ringing words of love still call, like fading prayers –
as the voices of lovers trying to reconnect.

But I never was good at playing my heart. But aren’t you
expecting me to stay in character? To wear the lines you
wrote for me, in the means of keeping up this fantasy of love.
My smiles are scripted; as everyone else is helping to create
such a picture frame. The world helps paint our picture from
all the wildest of conversations; but the more they run out of
your mouth, the more they seem to taste so tame.

These tired eyes have searched in your eyes for a reflection
I can truly bend– so is the baggage claim of my baggy eyes;
visioning our broken pieces coming together to hopefully
mend.

I was your background character, your silent NPC in a game
you never knew I played, the first time. But when I stopped
watching, when I stopped turning toward you with secret
obsession – you started to feel the crush of my own crush.
Now you chase the echo of something that once held you
true—that hidden crush, that tender view, searching. But love,
my dear, truly YOU, should see how love is so **** blind.

A Cell for Love

I wrote a message late one night—
Not hate, not rage, just one last plea.
A heart too full, a soul mid-flight,
Still holding on to what we’d be.

But law saw threat where I meant grace,
And cold steel slammed across my name.
I landed in the darkest place,
Branded by a lover’s shame.

Beside me, mur der wore a grin,
And ra pe had eyes like hollow graves.
And here I sat with trembling skin,
A man who only tried to save.

I wasn’t perfect, never claimed,
But I believed in what we had.
In vows and tears and midnight talks,
In fighting through the good and bad.

You asked for space—I gave too late.
You drew the line—I crossed in hope.
I didn’t know love could equate
To cuffs, to bars, to twisted rope.

They said, “You violated law,”
And maybe, yes, that’s what it seems.
But all I did was speak of love—
Of shattered hearts and broken dreams.

How did “I miss you” turn to chains?
How did “Please talk” become a crime?
I wasn’t stalking, wasn’t cruel—
Just stuck inside our ruined time.

And now I sit among the worst,
Men who’ve stolen breath and light.
I whispered love, and now I’m cursed
To dream of you through endless night.

I should have listened, should have known
That silence meant a needed wall.
But grief can beg when left alone—
And hope is stubborn when we fall.

So here I write from this cold floor,
Still reeling from the cost of care.
You’re gone, the door is locked once more,
And love became my cross to bear.

© 2025 Shawn Oen. All rights reserved.

Locked Rooms

You lie beside me every night,
But dream alone, beyond my sight.
Your eyes drift off to places deep,
While I stay waking in the sleep.

You speak of work, of plans, the day,
But never what you’ve throw away.
Not what you long for, fear, or miss—
Just surface talk, no hidden wish.

I ask, you nod, then change the thread,
As if your dreams were something dead.
A vault you never want to share,
A soul too tangled to lay bare.

I don’t need answers tied in bows,
Or every thought you’ve ever known.
I just want in—just one small key—
To feel your fire burning free.

But walls are what you offer back,
And silence fills the growing crack.
How strange to love, and still not know
The places that your heart won’t go.

I can’t hold dreams you never speak,
Or heal the parts you will not seek.
I’m not a ghost, I’m not a guess—
I’m here, but aching nonetheless.

So tell me where your stars are set,
What haunts your nights with quiet debt.
I want to love you, fully true—
But I can’t reach the locked-up you.

© 2025 Shawn Oen. All rights reserved.