Sad poem cause life is rough🫡
We started as one breathing thing
your laughter folded into my ribs,
skin remembering skin like scripture.
Mornings smelled of coffee and certainty,
your fingers tracing idle maps across my back
that always led back home.
Now the rooms stretch longer at night.
The same bed feels borrowed.
I reach and the warmth is already leaving,
a ghost pretending to sleep beside me.
Your eyes arrive late to every conversation,
carrying luggage from places you won’t name.
Still you scatter small mercies like breadcrumbs:
a hoodie draped over the chair,
a text that says thinking of you,
coffee waiting in my favorite mug,
a note on the mirror written in yesterday’s handwriting
'we’ll figure it out"
Each gesture pulls me forward
like a hand in the dark,
then lets go the moment I trust it.
I stumble again into fog.
I am caught between stations,
tuning through every frequency of us.
One second you are fire and open roads,
the next you are steel and closed doors.
I study the static between heartbeats,
trying to translate the hiss into direction
stay, leave, fight, surrender.
The signals keep changing.
Your little reminders keep arriving,
bright and soft and cruel in their hope.
They say we are still here.
My hands close around them
and feel only the shape of missing.
Tell me which version of you is real
the one that curled into me like home,
or the one already walking away
while smiling like nothing has changed.
I stand in the middle of our story,
blurry, unraveling,
holding fragments of warmth
in fists full of static.
And still
God help me
I keep checking my phone
for the next small gesture
that will make me believe
we are not already gone.