I used to love him—
Not in the casual way people talk about love,
But in the way the ocean loves the shore,
Constant, inevitable, relentless,
Even when the distance between them feels endless.

His blonde hair, soft and familiar,
Like golden threads I wanted to tangle my fingers in forever,
But I never could.
The miles stretched between us,
A space too wide, too cruel to close.
Yet I could still feel him,
As if his breath lingered just beyond my reach.

Those ocean blue eyes—
They held storms and stillness all at once,
Even from afar, I drowned in them.
I memorized them through a screen,
Staring into a version of him I couldn’t touch,
Hoping the pixels would somehow keep me warm.

His face, etched in my memory,
That beautiful, gentle nose,
Perfect in its imperfection,
A detail I can’t seem to forget,
Even when I try.
But I never felt its softness under my fingertips,
Only imagined what it must feel like to be that close.

And now, I miss him.
Not just his body, his presence,
But the way he made space in my heart,
A space that feels hollow now,
Echoing with memories that never had the chance to be real.
We existed in the in-between,
Our love spanning cities, miles, oceans,
Yet it was always there, as sure as the sun rising.

I miss his existence,
The simple fact of him being here,
Breathing in the same world as me,
But too far away to ever hold.
There’s a void where he used to be,
A gap in the air that no one else can fill.
He was perfect, not in the way the world sees perfection,
But in the way that made him mine,
Even when the distance made it feel like he wasn’t.



And I yearn—God, I yearn—
For just one more moment,
One more chance to see him face to face,
To close the distance between us,
To feel whole, if only for an instant.

He’s still here,
In the space he left behind,
In the parts of me that are still his,
Even though he was never quite close enough to touch.
And I miss him more than I know how to say.

Those words you spoke,
Solemn and soft,
Caressed my supple heart,
And ignited it into desire.

I felt your touch peer through the cracks.
Your love whisper through the gaps.
I saw your eyes shimmer in the shadow.
Your warmth glimmer in the cold.

I came running to that door —
The one you opened just for me.
All alone with your lingering touch,
Held by the softness of my reverie.

And now my love burns fiercely.
Setting fire to that solemn door.
The frame splinters my tender hands,
Bleeding now — for my own flesh and bone.

my chest
doesn't scream --
it hums
with a stabbing pain
too polite
to interupt.

my soul
it still reaches
for hands
that no longer
reach back
to me.

I crave connection —
so much so that I become ravenous.
devouring any ounce of contact like a starved child.
not caring if soft words or sweet caresses are poisoned with crooked intention.

I crave connection —
so much so that the craving turns to solitude
Isolating myself while I digest these crumbs of antipathy.

my bones miss structure
even if it’s borrowed
a timetable stitched from deadlines
just enough to tie me to something
outside my own spiraling

now, all i have is time
feral and barefoot
spilling into corners
where potential goes to wilt
too much of my life for nobody to hold

no duties to tether me
no rush, no reason
just the sound of myself growing louder

my hands itch for anything but survival

let me bleed for burden and responsibility
instead of rotting in my own brain
let me fall apart for someone else

still, i need to stay alive
to wrap the babies in my warmth
to meet the mothers
between screams and surrender
so they’ll finally feel safe with me

for now, i stare at the scars on my wrist
and think of all the pain i’ll carry differently
when it’s not just my own
but from holding too much of another life
and never letting it slip away

the lives i hope to live long enough to see

so when they breathe for the first time
i’ll know how to do it too

i want to be held
and rocked like i was wanted from the start
with arms that hush the noise
and cradle my aching heart

i want the skin of your hand
to graze my cheek so light
in the way that says, “you’re my baby girl,”
and makes the world feel right

i want to rest my head in your lap
and feel you hum a tune
like safety has a quiet sound
that softens up the room

this isn’t romantic
this is what should’ve been mine
what most people have never had to grieve
because they’ve had it the whole time

maybe i could wait forever.
maybe i won’t.
maybe what we had was meant to last.
maybe you were meant to leave.
whatever fate decides is right,
i’ll always think about you.
i could write a book,
build a life,
form a religion,
from the way you looked at me.
god.
the life i thought we would live.

i have a sadness lurking in me
the base of every poem i write
the core of my love
as i give myself papercuts
from your letters
and your poems
and i sit quietly
in the shadow
of your starlight.