Your love did not arrive in garlands of daylight,

It came cloaked in the dusk,

Kneeling at the altar of my ruin.

You did not flinch at the cathedral of my scars,

Nor turned away from the brittle hymns

I had learned to chant in the language of ache.

You were a slow alchemist,

Transmuting grief into something gold-soft,

Tilting the chalice of my silence

Until it spilled into a song.

Each word you breathed was a thread,

Mending the torn silk of my spirit,

Stitch by reverent stitch.

And now, where I once was a ruin,

I am a garden

Drunk on rain and resurrection,

My roots clinging to the dark earth

That once held only sorrow,

My leaves outstretched to a sun

We walked the line that fate had drawn,

Don't walk down the path my mind did warn,

entwined not by mere skin, but soul,

a love that threatened to swallow me whole.

And yet beneath the whispers of the day,

in places where hearts are meant to stray,

you stood too near, but worlds apart,

as if existing just to break my heart.

No touch, or vow, or promises shared—

yet in your heart, you knew I cared.

A thousand thoughts unsaid took root,

and bloomed beneath the ache of truth.

Your nearness was a holy sin,

a silent war I could never win.

The very air I shared with you,

was poison laced with honeydew.

Your stood so close it made me tremble,

the words came out of me in a ramble.

We breathed in sync, like mirrored tides,

and bled in places no one hides.

You didn't flinch, you didn't ask,

you wore restraint like a porcelain mask,

but in your eyes, I saw a broken dream—

of the buried love that would silently scream.

And I—

I cursed the sky, the sun and the moon,

the cruel world distanced us way too soon.

What fate decides who gets to stay,

and who must love, then walk away?

What fate decrees two souls shall meet,

then let their story remain incomplete?

Yet here we are, with hearts ablaze,

afraid to burn, yet loathe to gaze.

I memorized the way you breathe,

the hitch of sighs you try to sheathe,

the way your fingers twitch, hands curl—

All you did made my heart swirl.

We lived in pause and spoke in code,

Poured our love till it overflowed.

The distance is making me go insane,

You stood across the crowded room,

a stillness in the storm—

your presence carved into the gloom,

like winter dressed in warm.

The world went on, the voices blurred,

yet I could hear your soul—

a language formed from things unheard,

a longing I can't control.

Your eyes, like dusk on ancient seas,

unfurled a quiet pain,

a tale of love not born with ease,

but born to bear the strain.

No vows were spoken, none were sworn,

yet something deep took root—

a wordless ache the heart had worn,

that I knew only you could soothe.

We moved through life on separate rails,

each tethered to our path,

but every glance, each breath unveils

the aftermath of wrath—

not wrath of hate, nor wrath of fate,

but one of cruel design,

that two hearts find a perfect state

in a world that won’t align.

I’ve kissed the edge of dreams undone,

I've held you in my mind,

in all the ways we’ve come and run,

and left no trace behind.

Still, in the hush of sleepless dark,

when nothing else remains,

I ache for you—a phantom spark

It wasn’t a grand moment—

no slow-motion run,

no orchestra swelling behind our steps.

Just a quiet day,

a chance crossing,

and your eyes

meeting mine

like they had never looked away.

You smiled,

not the smile of strangers,

but of someone

who still knew the rhythm

of my silence.

And something in me—

that long-sleeping,

still-burning thing

breathed again.

Not with urgency,

but with peace.

Like it had only ever

been waiting.

You said,

I still think of you.

And I,

holding years in my chest,

answered,

I never stopped.

No questions about why it took this long.

No blame.

Just a moment

where time folded in on itself,

and the path curved back

to where it always wanted to go.

Love returned to us

not new,

but weathered and sure—

the kind that survives

goodbyes,

and silence,

and all the lives lived in between.

You reached for my hand

and this time—

I held on.

Not with hope.

With knowing.

I said goodbye and meant it—

in the way a flame means to die

but still glows in the dark.

I let you go

with hands that trembled

long after they were empty.

But love—

you’ve never really left me.

You live in quiet moments,

in the way I make tea for one,

but still glance at the chair

across from me.

You echo

in laughter that sounds like yours,

in cologne I catch

on a passing stranger

that pulls the air from my lungs

without warning.

I’ve kissed other mouths

and meant it,

held other hearts

and tried to fill the space.

But nothing quite fits

the way we almost did.

It’s not that I’m waiting.

It’s not that I haven’t healed.

It’s just—

some loves

don’t end.

They settle.

They soften.

They find quiet corners to bloom

even after the garden’s gone.

And I don’t speak your name anymore,

not out loud.

But in my mind—

in the moments between

sleep and waking,

I still call you

by every word

I was too afraid to say.

So if you ever wonder—

did I move on?

Yes.

But I never stopped loving you.

Not really.

Not ever.

Still,

Years pass,

and suddenly—

there you are.

Same eyes,

different life.

And all the air

rushes out of the room

like it remembers us too.

We smile,

awkward and aching,

like strangers

who used to dream

of the same future.

How have you been?

You ask.

And I want to answer

with everything I never said.

That I missed you

in people who weren’t you.

That some part of me

still dances in the echo

of our silence.

But I just say,

Good. You?

And we pretend

we don’t feel the burn

beneath those simple words.

There’s a pause—

and in it,

a lifetime.

And maybe now

we’ve both lived enough

to know:

some loves aren’t meant to be had.

Just remembered.

Just honored.

Like old songs

that still make you close your eyes

when they play.

So we say goodbye.

Not bitter.

Not broken.

Just…

whole,

and finally free

from the weight

We were always almost.

Almost something spoken,

almost a beginning,

almost the kind of love

that changes everything.

You sat so close,

but never close enough.

We laughed like lovers

in the wrong timeline—

always a beat behind

what could have been.

I knew your favorite songs,

your silences,

the way your eyes darted

when you were lost in thought.

But didn't get to know

how your hand felt

in mine.

And you looked at me

like you might say it.

Like the words hovered

right there

on the edge of breath.

But they never came.

Not quite.

We kept our hearts

pressed between pages

we never turned.

Called it timing.

Called it friendship.

Called it anything

but what it was.

And still—

I carry you

like a secret tune,

a melody that never resolved.

Not love.

Not really.

Just the haunting

Dear you, whose name I softly keep,

Inside the quiet hours of sleep—

I hope you feel the pull, the thread,

Of all the things I’ve left unsaid.

I see your face in passing light,

In every calm and restless night.

It’s foolish, maybe—much too soon,

But still I think of you as moon.

You rise in me, a gentle tide,

No place to run, no place to hide.

My words grow soft when you are near,

Like whispered things I barely hear.

I wonder if you ever feel

The way the world begins to reel—

When eyes lock once, then glance away,

And leave their meaning there to stay.

You don’t belong to me—not yet.

But still, I dream. I still forget

That hearts don’t beat on cue or line,

They move like water, fierce and fine.

So here’s this letter, ink and air,

With rhymed confessions stripped and bare.

If you should smile, if you just knew—

Then maybe I’d belong to you.

But for tonight, I’ll just pretend—

And fold this up.

I saw you once and lost my ground,

My breath, my voice—no trace, no sound.

A fleeting glance, a brush, a spark,

Lit up the corners of my dark.

You smiled and time forgot to move,

As if the stars had something to prove.

I blinked and found you in my chest—

A storm I never could have guessed.

Your laugh became my favorite song,

It played in me all day long.

I tried to speak, to find my place,

But tripped and fell into your grace.

Your eyes—two notes I can’t unhear,

A melody both sharp and clear.

You held the room without a try,

And I forgot how not to fly.

I write your name in folded air,

In poems you’ll never know are there.

Infatuation? Maybe so—

But it feels like roots that start to grow.

So if you catch me looking twice,

Or smiling without sound or vice—

Just know I’m caught in something sweet,

There was a time

when everything inside me

was built for leaving.

My love was always packed

in trembling hands,

my heart,

a room with an open window.

But now—

I am learning

to stay.

To sit with the ache

without begging it to go.

To look at the mirror

and see more than the cracks.

To forgive the versions of me

that only knew how to run.

Healing isn’t loud.

It doesn’t arrive with fireworks

or triumphant music.

It’s quieter—

like noticing the way sunlight

feels warmer

than it used to.

It’s making tea

just for me,

lighting a candle

and meaning it.

It’s finding comfort

in my own silence,

and not needing

to fill it.

Some days,

grief still knocks.

I let it in,

offer it a seat,

and tell it

we can share the light.

Because I am not trying

to erase the pain anymore—

only learning

how to hold joy

in the same hands

I thought love was thunder—

loud and fast,

tearing through the sky

just to prove it was real.

I chased the lightning,

burned my hands

on sparks that never stayed.

But then you came—

not as a storm,

but a beautiful morning.

You didn’t knock down doors.

You opened windows.

Let light pour into places

I had kept locked for years.

You never asked

why the floorboards creaked

with grief,

why I flinched at kindness.

You just stayed.

You spoke in small,

beautiful things—

holding my hand

like it was worth something,

remembering the way

I take my tea,

listening

without needing to fix.

And slowly,

I stopped bracing for the exit.

Stopped rehearsing goodbyes

under my breath.

With you,

love became a slow unraveling—

not of myself,

but of every fear

that said I was too much

or not enough.

You taught me

that love doesn’t have to hurt

to be real.

That some hearts

don’t come crashing in—

they arrive

on tiptoe,

and still manage

We spoke in almosts

and silences thick enough to drown in.

You looked at me like maybe—

just maybe—

you could love me.

But the words never made it past your lips,

and mine trembled with everything I didn’t ask.

I remember the way your fingers curled

just shy of mine

as if the air between us might shatter

if we touched too long.

And I let you go gently—

not because I wanted to,

but because I thought you’d come back

when the world stopped hurting.

But you didn’t.

And I don’t blame you.

Some people are made to be storms,

and some of us just learn how to carry the rain.

Now, I live in the quiet where your voice used to be.

I read old texts like holy scripture,

looking for meaning

in the pauses and the punctuation.

Sometimes,

I think the saddest part

isn’t that we ended—

I left you in a quiet dawn,

no storm, no scream, no shattered glass—

just silence thick with things unsaid,

a love too soft for time to pass.

I told myself it wouldn’t bloom,

that hearts like ours don’t find their spring.

But still, I feel the ghost of yours

in every song the sparrows sing.

You waited with open hands,

Eyes—uncharted, wide, and true.

While I was too full of distant maps,

too scared of what I had with you.

I chose the road that turned away,

a path I carved with trembling will.

But every mile just took me back

to all the spaces you kept still.

Now every dusk feels like your name,

each dream—a truth I never spoke.

I left, but left myself behind—

We were never written bold in fate,

just penciled lines the stars could fade—

a fleeting verse in time’s long song,

too shy to speak, too scared to stay.

I knew your laughter like a hymn,

a sound that trembled through my chest.

But life, that cruel and quiet thief,

refused to give us all the rest.

One missed train, one closed door,

a turning left where right could be.

We passed like ships with silent names

beneath the fog of what can’t be seen.

I hold no anger, just the ache

of pages blank we couldn’t fill.

You loved me once—perhaps too soft,

perhaps too late, perhaps too still.

Now I just walk the almost-world,

where hearts don’t break but simply drift.

And think of you like autumn leaves—

We met like stars in borrowed skies,

too bright to last, too far to stay—

a whispered chance, a soft “perhaps,”

that time, or fate, would steal away.

You smiled like rain on thirsty earth,

your touch—an echo yet unlearned.

I held you not, for fear of fire,

and watched the moment slowly burn.

The clocks were kind, but never still,

they ticked behind our every glance.

We never fought, we never stayed—

we lost each other to a dance.

A dance of what-ifs, half-spoken dreams,

a silence stitched in “almost” thread.

And now I haunt the roads we missed,

with all the things we left unsaid.

You were not mine to hold or keep,

but in my mind you softly dwell—

the ghost of love that might have bloomed,