Silence—
a draft in an attic
with nowhere to go
slipping under a door
holding its breath
until it forgets itself.

It is the cracked cup
hidden at the back
of the cupboard
turned upside down
as if laid to rest.

It is the nest
in a bare branch
at winter’s cold fist—
the ache
of having been left behind.

Silence stretches itself
thin—over the night’s spine.
It is the single leaf—
caught mid-fall
held in the wind’s soft hand
never to be let go.

It stirs
a quiet defiance—
the walls ache with it—
heavy as love too shy to speak
fragile as a memory
melting into dark.

we
          are
not
         the
same


        and i hope
we never are.

       you
worthless
     hopeless
undeserving
      awful
monster.

we
          are
not
         the
same.

One step in—
the air bleeds thin,
heat curling at the walls,
lungs straining
beneath your brand—

One look—
the room sways,
the way fire bends
before it gives in to wind.

One smile—
a burning magnet,
searing my thoughts
laces undone with just a look—
knowing when to forget
how to hold back.

I meet you there—
skin against skin,
a shiver between shadows,
a heartbeat, staggered and wild.

Your mouth—
an invitation between gasps,
a tide swelling, slipping,
breath against breath,
falling further in.

Fingertips etch urges,
scrape constellations into skin,
the night between palms and sheets—
a hunger deeper than air.

You collapse,
the world now a quivering mess—
a slow-burning ruin,
softened into embers,
breathless—wanting more.

I came across a picture today,
a moment frozen, bright and full of life.
She was smiling—so effortlessly,
like the past never weighed her down.

She found her way, I see it now,
embracing all the things she left behind.
The hobbies she once set aside,
the laughter she forgot how to share—
they are hers again, and they shine.

But where does that leave me?
The one left behind, standing still,
watching from a distance,
realizing that I have nothing,
not even a place to start.

She rediscovered herself,
while I am still sifting through ruins,
searching for pieces of me
that I never thought I’d have to rebuild.

I was always a part of something,
tied to a life that no longer exists.
Now, I face the question I never dared ask:
Who am I, when I am only me?

The world moves forward, time doesn’t wait,
and I know I must start again.
But every step feels heavier,
every day feels longer,
and the path ahead is one I have to carve alone.

Maybe one day, I’ll understand.
Maybe one day, I’ll smile like that too.
But for now, I am just trying—
trying to begin from nothing.