Dear…
Whittle me down just for fun…
A short poem…
I loved you more than moonlight loves the sun,
like restless winds that teach the flowers how to run.
We wished upon the falling stars above,
while cherry blossoms fell like quiet acts of love.
Last night’s dream felt far too real to fade,
a hand reached through the cold my iron heart had made.
It cracked me open gently just enough to feel,
then morning stole the moment with the ringing of what’s real.
I woke with honeyed tears upon my face,
soft as mourning draped in golden lace.
The seasons move too quickly to believe,
I lost you in the winter, yet still I never dare leave.
I breathe through shards of glass disguised as air,
every melody sounds emptier somewhere.
Even silence crowds my mind until I fall,
a thousand thoughts like shadows scraping every wall.
Do you see the darkness sleeping under clouds?
The weight of storms that never speak aloud?
Rain circles endlessly beneath the skies,
while sun and moon keep chasing each other through our lives.
You and I once laughed where life felt whole,
days stitched together gently through the soul.
You ran ahead while I remained behind,
still tracing every memory you left inside my mind.
Your smile follows me through every crowded street,
haunting every corner where our echoes used to meet.
Even the air tastes sweeter near your hand,
as though love itself could teach the world to stand.
I left my eyes behind with you that day,
inside the tears you tried so hard to hide away.
You left in pain, and maybe I’m to blame,
for love can turn to worry until neither feels the same.
I know returning hurts more than goodbye,
and healing asks us both to learn to lie.
But every road I take still bends toward you,
as if memory itself refuses something true.
We started as a moment, small and bright,
then grew into a universe inside my life.
Did you sit alone in darkness too?
Did you also cry with the songs that cried with you?
I searched through stories wounded just like me,
because pain at least keeps what used to be.
Even sorrow feels more faithful than delight,
for happiness was always passing through the night.
I bent the odds and still became undone,
if life’s a test, I failed before it begun.
Perhaps I’m already gone and never knew,
waiting for results that never made it through.
Reason twists like braids of hair beneath careful hands,
beautiful above yet impossible to understand.
Truth becomes a lie, and lies become relief,
until certainty itself dissolves beneath my grief.
I am not philosophy nor written art,
just unnamed feelings tearing through a heart.
No map can hold the shape of what I am,
a soul balancing on ropes too thin to stand.
The ones I trusted never saw the flame,
the spark inside me slowly learned my name.
It spread through every fiber till I burned,
giving all my faith for none returned.
Should I begin again or let it end?
Can broken things become themselves again?
Among every wrong turn life ever drew,
you were the only answer that felt true.
I fear losing what once made me rare,
even if you’ve moved on and no longer care.
Still I dream of flowers I have never seen,
imagining perfumes hidden inside the colors of teal.
Even roses carry thorns beneath their grace,
and brightest things can wound without a trace.
Yet I need you to know you are still loved,
even if my love feels far from enough.
I wanted to hold your hand against the night,
to keep it there until the world turned light.
I wanted you to kiss the tears I couldn’t hide,
or let me fall apart safely at your side.
But love became a trade of loss and need,
and hearts were never meant for bargaining.
If you no longer feel the way I do,
then leave in peace …there’s nothing left to prove.
Maybe I was only part of your becoming,
a passing season quietly overcoming.
Maybe none of this was meant to last,
and maybe every wound belongs within the past.
But the cruelest truth I’ve ever learned
is not that you left or never returned…
it’s that every version of me still waits
at the door of memory,
hoping one day
you’ll walk through it again.
Dear…
Absolutely beautiful poem 🩷