I will haunt the edges of forever,
just to chase the echoes
you leave behind.

I’ll swallow both our silences,
a ritual upon my tongue.
I cannot bear to tell you
the Gods cannot undo
what’s already begun.

Tell me—
are you more afraid of
me, or your memories?

You whispered, “I picked you dandelions,
and you just threw them away.”
I told you, “I’m a realist—
who needs wishes anyway?”
But you knew I did,
I do.
I do.

You probably wouldn’t get it
but I could walk for miles in your shoes,
the soles split long ago
and the pain became my muse.

I hung your clothes out to dry
in exchange, you wrung out
my tears and prayers under moonlight
I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised.
The fabric smelled of salt and soil
and I knew the ocean had
borrowed your body for a while.

Autumn’s kiss wasn’t enough to wake you
I don’t know why I thought I could be any different.
You were Spring’s wind,
and I was afraid of my own reflection.
We never had a chance.
No, we never had a chance.

Who needs Damocles
when you have Aristotle’s lantern?
Dreams are “just dreams,”
and your presence is a phantom.

I don’t need to touch galaxies
to believe in divinity.
Brushing against your fingers
was enough to unravel me,
and I can’t get the taste of you
out of my eyes.
You are everywhere—
and everywhere you haunt me

“Do you ever get that feeling?”
I tell her she’s too sensitive.
The evening lark laughs,
spinning silver through my bones
I push away the irony,
I am not afraid to lie
in the bed you made for me.

You used to love the sun,
and now you cannot bear the moon.
You said the shadows followed you home one night,
but I never asked if they stayed.

I think I took something irreversible from you—
something soft

I find the outlines of you
in the quiet I cannot escape,
I carry you like a wound;
stabbing me with every breath I take.