Aug 16, 2025
someone i used to know
i do not write the poems i used to think would come. i've gathered words, like autumn leaves, yet don't know where they're from.
they settle in forgotten rooms or drift between my days, like echoes of some distant self that's vanished in the haze.
i try to catch them, now and then, as one might chase a breeze- but meaning slips between the lines, and leaves me here -with these.
still, sometimes in the quiet hours, a fragment starts to glow- the half-remembered ache of love -someone i used to know.
