the Weight of Midnight
The clock strikes twelve,
fireworks scatter like spilled light,
and voices rise in countdowns,
but here, the quiet stretches,
a weight I can’t shake.
This isn’t the start I imagined,
the empty space beside me
feels sharper tonight.
You’re not here,
but you’re everywhere.
In the pause between breaths,
in the way I hold my arms to keep warm,
I feel your absence,
a presence all its own.
How do I explain this?
That I love someone
the world doesn’t see the way I do.
They don’t understand the waiting,
the strength it takes to live
on letters and seconds stolen
from a clock that isn’t mine.
At midnight, I don’t make a wish.
I make a promise,
to keep this love alive,
to carry it through another year.
Because even though you’re not beside me,
you’re a part of me,
and that’s enough
to keep me standing.
We don’t need fireworks.
We don’t need cheers.
We have this,
a love they’ll never understand,
a tether stronger than distance.
So, as the world celebrates,
I sit with the silence,
knowing it won’t always be this way.
One day, the clock will strike,
and you’ll be here
And until then, I’ll hold you
in the only place that time cannot touch
my heart.