I’m almost home, I softly say,
Like winds that carry dreams away.
As if these words can guide my feet,
Toward your arms where hearts will meet.

The light ahead, it softly glows,
A quiet hope my spirit knows.
Not blinding bright, nor harsh, nor cold,
But warm, a love my hands still hold.

Yet shadows pull and whispers bite,
They drag me back into the night.
The weight of all I’ve left behind,
Still chains my soul and clouds my mind.

The promises that turned to lies,
The endless tears, the hollow skies.
The choices made, the paths I feared,
The silent screams no one has heard.

I reach, I crawl, I fall, I fight,
Lost between wrong and reaching right.
My past like ghosts that never sleep,
Who haunt me when the silence weeps.

They whisper, "Love’s not meant for you,
You're far too broken to break through."
But then, your voice, like gentle rain,
Softly soothes my soul again.

I hear your heart, it calls my name,
It wraps my wounds, it soothes my shame.
You stand with arms so open wide,
A steady light I cannot hide.

But fear still binds my fragile chest,
For love has never let me rest.
What if you leave, like all before?
What if I’m left to hurt once more?

Yet there you are, your hands still stay,
You never force, you never sway.
You whisper words I longed to hear:
“You're safe with me, there's nothing here.”

So still I climb, through storm and stone,
Through nights that leave me cold, alone.
Yet every breath, each step I take,
Is for the love we’re yet to make.

Closer, closer, though I fall,
I hear your voice, I hear your call.
And even when I drown in doubt,
Your light is what I can't live without.

The fight is hard, but worth the pain,
For you, I’d walk through fire again.
Though shadows haunt, and past still screams,
You are my hope, my every dream.

And when the day comes, I will be,
Safe in your arms, completely free.
No longer lost, no more to roam,
Wrapped in your love, forever home.

Because no matter what may be,
I love you.
You love me.❤️
  

I reach for you in empty space,
where skin should meet with skin,
but all that fills the distance wide
is silence held within.

Your voice a whisper in my veins,
your eyes a distant star,
so close I feel your heartbeat near,
yet never where you are.

I crave the warmth that isn’t mine,
the touch I can’t receive,
held captive by the walls I built,
and secrets I can’t leave.

Our souls brush in the quiet dark,
a dance without the dance,
yearning for the closeness lost,
stuck in this circumstance.

But still, I hold you tenderly,
in dreams where distance breaks,
and hope that someday, somehow soon,
our hands will intertwine and wake.
  

I’m tangled in the threads of yesterday,
where every memory clings like thorns,
a garden wild with broken dreams,
and love that never quite was born.

I reach toward tomorrow’s hopeful light,
but shadows pull me back again,
to moments cracked and unfinished words,
to silent rooms filled with pain.

The past is a cage I cannot break,
though my heart begs to be free,
because moving forward means leaving behind
the ghosts that live inside me.

And so I linger, caught between,
the love I want and the hurt I hide,
a fragile bridge I cannot cross,
where hope and fear collide.

If only I could untangle these roots,
and breathe in love’s sweet air,
then maybe, just maybe, I’d find my way
to his arms that wait out there.
  

There’s a silence stretched like ocean waves,
between your heart and mine.
A thousand miles of empty space,
where longing folds like twine.

I hear your voice inside the wind,
soft echoes in the night,
but the miles press cold and heavy,
like stars that hide their light.

Our fingers reach through restless air,
but never quite can touch,
the warmth we crave, the closeness lost,
the hands we need so much.

Yet love threads through the distance vast,
a fragile, burning flame,
that keeps us close despite the miles,
and whispers each other’s name.

I hold you in my quiet dreams,
where space dissolves and bends,
and hope that soon, beyond the stars,
this distance finds its end.
  

I press my eye against the keyhole,
a sliver of light from worlds unseen,
where dreams whisper soft promises,
and hope blooms in quiet green.

Beyond that tiny, trembling glass,
are days wrapped in golden thread,
where laughter dances like a flame,
and fears have all but fled.

But here I stand, just out of reach,
my fingertips graze dreams so near,
yet walls of doubt and shadowed past
keep futures locked, wrapped tight in fear.

I watch the life I wish to live,
like sunlight trapped behind a door,
so close, yet veiled in mystery,
a place I’ve never dared explore.

Still, through the keyhole, I believe,
that someday soon I’ll cross that line,
and step into the world I crave,
a future not just dreamed, but mine.
  

I reach for you with fingertips of fog,
grasping shadows I can’t hold.
What I feel is raw and real,
but how to know what’s truth or told?

Your words are whispers in the mist,
sometimes warm, sometimes cold.
I’m caught between the dark and light,
between the new and old.

My heart believes what eyes can’t see,
that what we have is true.
But doubt is creeping like the dawn,
painting colors I never knew.

Is love a flame or flickering smoke?
A dream or steady flame?
I clutch your presence in the haze,
but wonder if it’s all the same.

Still, I reach through fog and fear,
hoping clarity will shine,
to find your heart through the unknown,
and finally call it mine.
  

I met you in the light of screens,
a spark in endless digital streams.
Your voice, a thread that pulled me close,
or so I thought, or so it seemed.

But now your silence cuts so deep,
like shadows swallowing my name.
You act as if I never was,
as if I’m just a ghost of flame.

I reach through fog, I call your face,
but all I find is cold neglect.
A friend turned stranger overnight,
forgotten in your mind’s neglect.

Was I just pixels on a screen,
a story fading in your scroll?
A moment lost in passing time,
a voice erased without control.

My name, once spoken soft and sweet,
now echoes only in my heart.
In your silence, I am lost,
a vanished world, torn apart
  

The world speaks loud in empty ways,
with noise that never stays.
But I still hear your steady tone
through all the fleeting haze.

A whisper etched beneath my ribs,
a song that time can’t steal,
not spoken now, not heard aloud,
but felt in how I heal.

You didn’t shout, you didn’t preach,
you simply knew my name.
And that was more than all the words
that left me feeling shame.

I search through crowds and scrolling feeds,
for echoes made of gold.
But only yours could reach my depths
and soothe what hurt to hold.

Maybe you’re a memory,
or someone I’ve not met.
But still I keep a space for you,
the voice I won’t forget.

One day, perhaps, I’ll hear it clear,
cut through the endless din,
and I will know I’ve found the sound
that feels like truth again.
  

I hold a map with no roads,
a guidebook ripped and torn.
The ink has run and faded,
and the pages are all worn.

I wander through the wilderness,
where nothing feels the same,
each step uncertain, stumbling,
lost in a silent game.

No markers point the way ahead,
no stars to light the night.
Just shadows stretching endless,
and whispers out of sight.

I search for signs in empty skies,
for pathways through the haze,
but every turn I take just leads
to more confusing maze.

Yet still I press on forward,
though the compass spins and breaks,
because even lost and broken,
my heart still dares to ache.

For somewhere past this darkness,
beyond the fear and pain,
there might be roads to find again,
and I will search for them in vain.
  

Every night, the table’s set,
a place I save for you,
though the chair stays empty,
and the silence fills the room.

I light the candle anyway,
its flicker soft and true,
a stubborn beacon in the dark,
a ritual I cling to.

Even when your words cut deep,
like winter’s cruel, sharp sting,
I hold onto hope’s fragile thread,
to better days it might bring.

I know the cracks are widening,
the hurt beneath the smile,
but still, I set that place for you,
each lonely, aching mile.

Because somewhere inside the pain,
beneath the fear and bruise,
I believe there’s still a version
of us I cannot lose.

So I keep the table ready,
a promise not yet through,
a fragile act of faith and love,
I still set a place for you.
  

I reach for what once was,
but my hands close on air,
vapor slipping through my fingers,
ghosts that vanish everywhere.

Faint whispers in the mist,
echoes of a time so bright,
now shadows worn and twisted,
lost in the coming night.

Each memory a fragile thread,
thin as breath, quick to break,
yet still I clutch it tightly,
though my heart begins to ache.

It’s a dance with fading light,
a chase of smoke and sighs,
holding onto moments,
that dissolve before my eyes.

I know they’re slipping farther,
the more I try to keep,
but what else is left to hold
when love’s a shadowed deep?

So here I am, still grasping,
though all turns into air,
holding on to vapor,
to anything that’s there.
  

I reach for you with open hands,
but you look right past.
As if my words were empty air,
a shadow that won’t last.

Your eyes, once maps to somewhere true,
now close when I appear.
I search for meaning in their depths,
but find no trace, no tear.

How do you hear a silent scream,
when silence is all you keep?
How do you hold a soul that breaks,
when all you see is sleep?

I’m trapped between your distant gaze,
a ghost that fades and slips away.
Each step I take to close the space
only widens this hollow place.

I call your name inside the dark,
but silence echoes where there’s no spark.
How do I reach when you don’t try,
when love is just a passing lie?

I’m lost in shadows you don’t see,
searching still for empathy,
a flicker in your cold, closed door,
to find the love I thought I had before.
  

I stare into this fractured glass,
and wonder who stares back.
A stranger’s eyes that know my past,
but wear a different mask.

The face I had, the girl I knew,
seems distant, cracked, and cold.
A ghost behind a fogged up pane,
a story left untold.

Where did she go, that shining spark?
That fearless, laughing flame?
Lost beneath this weight of scars,
too tangled to reclaim.

But every day I lean and look,
to find her in the cracks.
Because somewhere beneath the ache,
she’s waiting to come back.
  

The world spins loud, a roaring sea,
a tidal wave drowning me.
Voices clash like broken glass,
truth slips further as I grasp.

I shout into the blaring storm,
but all I hear is silence worn.
Buried deep beneath the sound,
a single word I’ve never found.

Amid the chaos, dust, and screams,
I chase the ghost of shattered dreams.
But every truth I try to touch
feels like I’m never grasping much.

Still, through the noise I strain my ears,
to catch the truth beyond the fears.
Because even in this blinding fight,
I’m searching for my own lost light.
  

It’s in the air, the scent I know,
a whisper of a long time ago.
A faded perfume, earth and rain,
that pulls me back to joy and pain.

One breath, and I’m unsteady, lost
among the corners, torn and tossed.
A door creaks open in my mind,
to places I thought left behind.

I close my eyes, your laugh, your face,
a gentle, almost sacred place.
The smell ignites a fragile flame,
of who I was before the shame.

And in that ghost of scent and sound,
I start to search, I’m homeward bound,
to find the pieces buried deep,
the parts I lost but long to keep.
  

How do I find you now,
when you’re only in my chest?
A nameless ache that calls for you,
a home I haven’t met.

I search for eyes I’ve never seen,
for hands that fit like fate.
I chase the wind through strangers' smiles,
but none unlock your gate.

My soul remembers what I don’t,
your voice, your touch, your face.
Like echoes from a distant shore
I cannot yet embrace.

Are you searching just like me?
Do you feel the hollow too?
Two hearts adrift in separate storms,
both waiting to break through.

One day, I pray, the stars will bend,
our paths will softly cross.
And all this lonely searching now
won’t feel like love’s lost cost.
  

The ruins hum beneath my feet,
where broken dreams reside.
Ashes of the life I knew,
still glowing deep inside.

The wreckage sings a bitter tune,
yet somewhere in the cracks,
a tiny voice keeps calling out,
a thread that pulls me back.

"You've bled, you've screamed, you've lost so much,
but breath still fills your chest.
The pieces may be jagged now,
but you can build what's left."

The silence wraps around my ribs,
but hope still breathes between.
A flower blooms from shattered stone,
in places pain has been.

Though haunted by the storms I’ve known,
I’ll rise where wreckage lay.
The whispers say, "You’re not yet done,
you'll find your dawn one day."
  

I dream of you beneath pale moons,
though we’ve never touched or spoken.
A face I’ve traced inside my mind,
a bond already broken.

I feel you near, yet far away,
like footprints in the sand.
Every time I reach for you,
you slip right through my hand.

You're the whisper I can't catch,
the shadow in my chest.
I know you’ll vanish if you come,
just like all of the rest.

But still I search in crowded streets,
and silent midnight skies.
For even fleeting ghosts like you
can light up empty eyes.

I ache to hold you for a breath,
though loss is guaranteed.
Some loves aren’t meant to stay, I know,
yet still, it’s you I need.
  

I sit where the trains hum low,
as strangers come and go.
Their faces blur into the breeze,
but yours, I still don’t know.

Each whistle holds a promise thin,
each engine roars your name.
I wait as seasons change their coat,
but still, you never came.

The bench remembers every sigh,
each tear I tried to hide.
Hope lingers like an old perfume
that time can't override.

Maybe you're on the next train home,
or lost along the track.
But I stay rooted, watching lines,
believing you’ll come back.

For in my chest, a beacon glows,
through every passing year,
I'm still waiting at the station,
for the day you’ll stand right here.
  

There’s a place inside my chest
where echoes used to dance.
Where every feeling used to bloom,
now has a hollow glance.

It didn’t die in one loud crash,
but faded, soft and slow,
like music slipping out of tune,
like melting into snow.

I try to shout into that space,
to stir the soul I knew.
But every note comes back as dust,
no red, no green, just blue.

The world still spins, the people smile,
but I can’t match the beat.
I’m walking with an empty heart
that once was loud with heat.

Still I knock against the quiet,
pray one day the sound return,
that love will light the match again,
and I’ll remember how to burn.
  

I’ve been searching for Sundays,
the kind that smelled like bread.
When laughter filled the kitchen air,
and no one left unsaid.

The kind of day where silence sang,
not buzzed with something wrong.
When time felt like a featherweight,
and I could just belong.

I miss the warmth of folded light,
of windows wide with grace.
Of mornings where I wasn’t scared
to show my real face.

Now every day feels overstretched,
like peace has lost its way.
But deep inside, I still believe
I’ll find my softest day.

Somewhere past the chaos hum,
past nights I can’t outrun,
I’m still searching for Sundays,
where my soul remembers the sun.
  

The sun forgets me every day,
but rain, it knows my name.
It taps upon my windowpane
like sorrow dressed in shame.

It traces lines across my skin
like tears I used to hide.
It doesn't ask me to be brave,
it simply stays beside.

No questions, no pretending games,
just puddles where I stand.
It lets me cry without the guilt
of needing someone's hand.

The world may turn its back on me,
but clouds don’t mind my ache.
The storm and I, we understand
how hearts are bound to break.

So when the skies begin to weep,
I don’t run from the grey.
I walk beneath the pouring truth,
and let the rain wash the pain away.
  

I tried every door I passed,
some golden, some made of rust.
Some whispered hope with open hands,
some shattered all my trust.

I knocked on ones that looked like home,
but found just empty halls.
I begged for warmth behind stained glass,
but spoke to silent walls.

I left pieces of my heart
on thresholds that stayed cold.
Each handle turned with trembling faith,
each story half retold.

I built a key from all my tears,
from lessons carved in bone.
But still, each lock just laughed at me,
I never found my own.

Yet here I am, still trying doors,
though hope feels thin and worn.
Because maybe there's one left for me,
a room where I’m reborn
  

You broke more than my skin that day,
you fractured where I stand.
Now every road just looks the same,
and maps slip through my hand.

The mirror doesn’t know my face,
my voice comes out unsure.
The world still spins, but I stand still,
half ghost, half aching blur.

They said I’d find myself again,
that healing finds its course.
But all I know is how it feels
to flinch at love and force.

My compass cracked beneath your weight,
each bruise a turning tide.
And now I wander without stars,
with nothing left to guide.

But deep within, a whisper stirs,
a pulse that still believes.
That even shattered girls like me
can rise from underneath.
  

I lost myself in borrowed shapes,
in voices not my own.
I wore the masks they handed me,
and called a cage my home.

I let them write upon my skin
with rules and crooked shame.
Forgot the fire in my chest,
forgot I had a name.

But healing isn’t loud or bright,
it’s slow, like rivers run.
It’s choosing not to flinch when light
pours through what’s come undone.

I stitched myself in newer thread,
not perfect, but it's true.
Each scar now whispers who I am,
not just what I lived through.

So let me take the long way back,
each step a sacred claim.
Because this path, though cracked and dark,
still leads me home again.
  

I reached for galaxies in bloom,
for stars that hummed your name.
I chased the comets through my dreams
but never found the same.

The universe, it whispered truths,
of souls that touch, then drift.
Of wishes made on meteor dust
that never came to lift.

I built constellations from my hope,
drew maps inside the sky.
But all the stars just blinked at me,
no reason, no reply.

I held the moon with quiet hands,
believing you were there.
But stardust slips right through the cracks
of prayers hung in the air.

So here I stand, with palms turned up,
a seeker in the sand,
dreams glowing on my fingertips,
but still, no reaching hand
  

I whispered love into your chest,
but all I met was stone.
I built a home with open hands,
but I was there alone.

I sent you pieces of my soul
wrapped soft in trembling care,
but silence was the only sound
that told me you were there.

I begged the stars for symmetry,
for one small spark returned.
But your eyes stayed a mirror's lie,
while mine just ached and burned.

Do you know what it’s like to give
and never be received?
To build a sky from promises
and find you were deceived?

Now every heartbeat hits a wall,
each echo lost, not caught.
Because your love was never love,
just the hope that mine had brought.
  

You left, but so did I, somehow.
Not all at once. Not loud.
Just pieces of me peeled away
until I matched the cloud.

At first, I waited in your shadow,
thinking you might turn.
But days grew long, and I grew less,
and still, you didn’t burn.

I smiled like I was still alive,
performed the part with grace.
But something deep had left the room,
and left behind my face.

I walk through days on phantom feet,
a stranger in my skin.
And all that’s left is dust and dreams
of who I might have been.

I used to cry, but even tears
feel distant now, like lore.
I don’t mourn you, I mourn the me
who waited at the door.

So if I find my breath again,
a spark within this shell,
it won’t be for who left me torn,
but for the me who fell.
  

Not all goodbyes are spoken.
Some vanish like the air,
no slam of doors, no final words,
just space that isn’t there.

You left without a sentence,
without a breath to spare.
And I’m still haunted by the hush
you planted everywhere.

The silence filled with questions
you’ll never come explain.
Why love just stopped, or bodies broke,
or distance fell like rain.

For some, the grave was quieter
than anything they said.
For others, silence was a choice,
they left and called it dead.

I carry ghosts with beating hearts,
and ones now cold and still.
And all the noise inside my chest
is quiet I can’t kill.

So if you hear me, where you are,
or where you chose to go,
know silence didn’t end the ache,
it only made it grow.
  

You planted seeds with silver words,
promises soft as morning dew.
You painted skies in colors bright,
a garden meant for me and you.

I watered dreams with quiet hope,
tended vines with trembling hands.
But seasons changed, and nothing grew,
just empty earth and barren lands.

The flowers never opened wide,
no petals kissed by sun’s embrace.
Only thorns and tangled weeds,
the garden lost without a trace.

You left the soil cold and cracked,
forgotten promises like dust.
And still I wait beside the wilted stems,
clinging to a love I must distrust.

A garden meant to bloom with you,
now silent under skies so gray,
a dream that never learned to live,
a so called love that slowly slipped away.
  

The world around is velvet thick,
a blur of fear and gray.
I walk with hands that shake like leaves,
unsure of where I stray.

But in my grasp, a fragile flame,
a lantern made of will,
It flickers, yes, but still it burns,
and somehow, I am still.

The path is winding, steep, and cold,
and shadows crowd my mind.
But every step the light survives
is proof of what I’ll find.

It doesn’t promise answers,
or maps that won’t mislead,
just gives me space to breathe again,
to pause, to plant a seed.

The fog may stay for miles yet,
but still this light I keep,
not just to guide my weary feet,
but warm the wounds that weep.

And someday, when the sky breaks clear,
and peace begins to grow,
I’ll know it wasn’t brightness won,
but the courage not to go.
  

I run through fog and fractured light,
my fingers stretched and sore,
reaching for what once was close,
but isn’t mine no more.

It whispers soft like memory,
a scent that fades with time.
A name I say beneath my breath,
a rhythm without rhyme.

Each time I grasp, it slips again,
like smoke, like thread, like air.
It dances just beyond my grasp,
and still, I find it there.

A phantom stitched from maybe-then,
from wishes never grown.
I chase it not because it’s real,
but to not feel so alone.

The ache becomes familiar now,
its weight a worn refrain.
I chase the shadow of a dream
because I miss the pain.

And if I caught it, what then?
Would it fade or would it stay?
Some ghosts aren't meant to hold at all,
they only show the way.
  

Once, I laughed without looking back,
before silence learned my name.
Before love turned into lessons
and trust became a game.

There was a girl with brighter eyes,
with joy she didn’t fake.
A heart unstitched by trembling hands,
unbent, before the break.

She used to dream without a map,
without fearing where she’d land.
Now I trace her through the mirror,
a ghost I can’t command.

The years have worn their fingerprints
in places soft with ache.
They carved new versions out of me,
and some I didn’t take.

But still I search the ruins,
hoping someday I might see
the girl I buried long ago,
or what’s left of who she’d be.

And maybe if I find her,
I won’t beg her to return.
I’ll hold her hand and walk her home,
and let us both unlearn.
  

If you hear me, somewhere, somehow,
please know I’m speaking low.
Not in shouts the world would echo,
but the kind soft hearts would know.

I’m whispering through crowded rooms,
through days that blur and burn.
In pages no one’s read before,
in lessons I unlearn.

I don’t know where you’re hiding now,
in future’s mist or fate,
but I hope you feel my voice like wind
before it’s far too late.

They say that love will find its way,
but what if it walks slow?
What if you pass me in the street
and never even know?

So I leave these crumbs of longing,
in poems, prayers, and sighs,
hoping you will find the thread
and see it in my eyes.

I’m here. I’m waiting. Worn but whole,
a soul still braving through.
And if you hear me, stranger of mine,
I’m reaching out to you.
  

I knelt with whispered questions,
hands folded, heart laid bare,
but heaven held its silence
like it never knew I was there.

I begged with breaking syllables,
my breath too frail to fight,
each “why” a stone thrown at the sky,
each “please” swallowed by night.

No thunder rolled to answer,
no sign was sent my way.
Just silence thick as winter fog
and dreams that won’t obey.

But maybe prayers aren’t always heard
in ways we understand.
Maybe silence is a kind of love,
a quiet, unseen hand.

Still, I ache for something certain,
a voice to hold me near,
not just hope that hides in echoes
or faith built out of fear.

If heaven’s closed, I’ll knock again,
with bruised but steady hands.
Even if no words return,
I’ll trust the silence stands.
  

I’ve lived where light forgets to shine,
where shadows tuck me in.
Where joy is just a stranger’s name,
and peace feels like a sin.

But even here, beneath the weight
of everything I’ve lost,
I see a shimmer through the cracks,
a sun that knows the cost.

The walls are chipped with memory,
the windows stained with pain,
but flowers bloom through concrete hearts
when watered by the rain.

Hope doesn’t roar, it flickers.
It whispers, not declares.
It hides in smallest corners,
and breathes through deepest prayers.

I used to think the break was wrong,
that healing meant made whole,
but now I know the cracks I bear
still let the starlight hold.

So I will sit inside the ruins
and let my lungs relearn:
that even in the darkest rooms,
the softest lights return.
  

I write to you in inkless lines,
my words a silent prayer,
to skies that never answer back,
but somehow feel you there.

Dear stranger I have yet to meet,
but know in soul and dream,
I send you thoughts with every moon,
across this endless seam.

Are you looking at the stars tonight,
wondering if I’m near?
Do you feel a pull you can’t explain,
a whisper in your ear?

I tell you all my secrets still,
though you've not held my hand.
I write as if you’re listening,
you’d try to understand.

My letters float like fireflies
to heavens wide and blue,
and every one says just one thing,
I’m waiting here for you.

So if you feel a fluttering
when all the world is still,
it might just be my longing
wrapped in hope and will.

One day, these words will find you,
I don’t know where or how,
but until then, I’ll keep writing
what I wish I could say now.
  

I’ve lived in many places,
slept beneath both stars and roofs,
but nowhere ever held me
like the love I dream as truth.

I pack my bags with silence,
my smiles stitched in between,
each time I settle, I still ache
for what has never been.

I sit in rooms that echo loud
with peace I cannot feel,
because the walls know I’m a guest,
and nothing here is real.

“Home” is not a doorway,
not a city, not a bed,
it’s hands that hold without repair,
and eyes that see what’s said.

I want a place where I can breathe
without apology,
where joy won’t feel like foreign soil,
and love won’t ask to flee.

I’m still out there, walking roads
no map could ever chart,
because the home I’m searching for
is shaped just like a heart.
  

I walk the halls of yesterday
in bare feet and borrowed light,
chasing echoes through the silence
that only visit late at night.

Old laughter clings to windowpanes,
like ghosts that won’t let go,
I trace their shape with trembling hands
in places no one knows.

The past is not behind me,
it lives inside my chest.
It hums beneath each heartbeat
and steals away my rest.

I wander through the photographs,
the rooms I used to be,
each memory a map I draw
of all that’s left of me.

But time won’t let me linger,
it pushes me to move,
still, I leave footprints in the dust
of everything I lose.

So call me lost, or haunted,
I wear both names with grace.
A wanderer of yesterdays,
still longing for one face.
  

Oupa the house still hums in whispers
where your laughter used to stay.
Your chair, your coat, the garden gate,
they haven’t changed their way.

The kettle sings at half past three,
like it always did before.
But now the silence answers me
when I call across the floor.

I still see you in the Sunday sun,
in the steam that hugs my cup.
In the way the wind speaks through the trees
when all the world shuts up.

You were the root, the steady hand,
the calm beneath my storm.
A shelter built from quiet strength,
a love that kept me warm.

But time is cruel, and you are gone,
though I pretend you’re near.
In every room, in every breath,
you somehow still appear.

I visit where you used to breathe,
and though the air feels thin,
my heart remembers everything
you left alive within.
  

There’s a space inside my chest
that nothing seems to fill.
A ghost of hands I’ve never held,
a silence warm and still.

I look for you in crowded rooms,
in voices that don’t stay.
In late-night skies and lullabies
that echo far away.

I dream in faces I don’t know,
in laughter I’ve not heard.
You live in pages yet unturned,
in every unwritten word.

They say you can’t miss what’s not real,
but I swear, you feel like mine.
Like time is late in bringing us,
but love is never blind.

There’s comfort in the waiting,
though it aches like winter skin.
Because the shape of absence tells me
where your light will someday begin.

So I’ll keep searching through the stars,
and hope fate hears me call,
for the soul I haven’t touched yet,
but somehow knew through all.
  

I still remember our first night,
when your smile almost felt like light.
When I believed in what we had,
naive, in love, or just too sad.

You touched my hand, the world stood still.
I thought it meant we always will.
But fairy tales don't last too long,
not every “right” begins with wrong.

I let you write your name in me,
in places I can’t set free.
Called it love when it was need,
clung to you so I could breathe.

I searched for warmth inside your chest,
but found a mirror at best.
And yet I told myself, "It’s fine,
maybe this is love’s design."

The house we built now feels too small, 
the walls know I don’t love at all.
I wake up next to what we faked,
and ache for what we never made.

You're still here, but not the you
I dreamt of when our love was new.
And I’m still her, just less and more,
too tired to fight, too numb to mourn.

I whisper to the past at night,
pretend the first time still feels right.
But silence answers every time,
your love was never really mine.

Now I stay, not out of choice,
but duty wrapped without a voice.
And though it breaks me, I endure,
for love that's innocent and pure.

Because they look like you and me,
our children born of make-believe.
They are the reason I remain...
the softest echoes in the pain.