we used to be
a language no one else spoke
half-finished sentences
and knowing glances
that stitched the silence shut

we used to be
hands finding hands in the dark
like it was instinct
like the night was only a curtain
and not a distance

back then
laughter lived easy in our mouths
and the future felt small enough
to hold between us
something we could fold
and tuck into a back pocket

now memory does the touching
and I trace the outline
of who we were
like a scar that doesn’t ache
but never disappears
we used to be fire
without thinking of ash

I thought love would leave
like a door closing
one last final click
instead it stayed
as a draft in the house of my chest
moving things when I wasn’t looking
your name became a season
I didn’t know how to dress for
every song was too thin
every silence too loud
I learned the weight of minutes
by how long it took
not to call you

grief is strange
it doesn’t break you in half
it teaches you how to carry
a whole missing person
without dropping anything else

and some nights
when the world is very still
I swear I feel my heart
reach for what used to be there
like a hand still clutching shadows
it cannot hold anymore

leave me now
before the light learns our names
before the walls memorize your breath
go while goodbye is still a door
and not a wound
while silence can pass for mercy

leave me now 
while your absence is still honest
before it sharpens into regret
I can survive the clean cut of an ending
but not the slow ache of almost
don’t stay long enough 
to turn memory cruel
or teach my hands to reach 
for what won’t return

leave me now
not because I am empty
but because I am full of what we were
and there is no room left 
for you to fade gently

I close my eyes and drown out 
the sound of goodbye
pretending silence 
is kinder than the truth
I tell myself this ache 
will soften with time
that absence 
is just another word for rest
but the quiet keeps your shape
lingers where your laughter used to be
and every unspoken thing still hums
a low tide pulling at my ribs
asking me to remember 
what I’m trying to release

I counted the light-years
between your voice
and the silence that followed
even the constellations
turned their backs
as if the sky itself
could not bear witness
but a star collapsed in my chest
gravity is a stranger now
and I am learning how to stand
in a room made only of your absence