Dear You,
It's past midnight.
I'm alone in one of my hiding places,
music playing only to prove
there's still sound in the world.
I keep writing your name
while trying to remember
when we stopped being us.
I couldn't sit in our living room.
It feels too empty without you,
too honest.
So I hide—
from the space you left behind,
from the version of me
that still waits for you there.
It's 1:32 in the morning.
I'm crying again,
quietly,
for reasons I pretend not to know.
But the truth is—
there is no mystery.
I am alone,
and you are gone.
YOU ARE READING
Every part of me
PoetryThis book took years to begin. Not because I lacked words, but because I lacked the courage to open my heart. To my readers- this is my soul, laid bare. Every page holds a piece of me: my vulnerability, my joy, the moments I loved deeply, and the gr...
