Midnight Thoughts (vol.2) | Poetry

Tethered Still

We wore the years like armor, side by side—
sharp-edged laughter, midnight scars,
stumbling through fires we both learned to spark.
And I’d have sworn back then, as the echoes split,
we’d always know why we held tight.

But here we stand, this hollow silence stretched
over brittle bridges too heavy to cross.
I look at you and search the lines,
the faintest flicker of who we were,
and all I find is a shadow of want.

Sometimes I wonder if we are ghosts,
haunting what we used to be,
bound by memories worn thin,
kept alive by some thread neither of us cut—
but why? I don't know, and maybe you don’t.

I don’t even know what this ache is now.
It tastes like smoke, or sour wine.
We pour words out, just empty habits
that scrape like glass, leaving stains
where warmth should have been.

Why are we still here, wading in what’s left?
A loyalty or something darker?
Every silent room feels smaller,
each moment sharper than the last,
yet I can’t turn back, and neither can you.

So we linger in this half-life,
two strangers bound by a shared past,
its weight and its loss, like iron chains.
And I’m left wondering why we’re both still holding,
afraid to let go, but too tired to try.