I see you everywhere,
in the way the rain falls,
heavy and relentless,
clinging to the glass
as if it, too, is afraid to let go.
You are in the spaces
where silence grows,
in the crack between breaths,
in the hollow of my chest
where your name still echoes.
You are not here,
and yet,
you are everywhere.
I carry you like a wound
that refuses to heal,
a whisper of pain
woven into my every thought.
And I wonder—
can you feel it?
The way my soul
reaches for yours,
still believing it belongs there.
It’s cruel, isn’t it?
How love can linger
long after it’s been abandoned,
like a song stuck in my head,
playing in an empty room.
Breaking down or choking back tears
In inconvenient places
With the memory of you.
Holding on until the door is closed.
Collapsing on the floor
Letting the tears stream.
Just wanting to pick up the phone
To call or text. To hear you.
Wanting you to come through the door
And wrap each other in our arms.
I wish I could hate you,
but instead,
I cradle the pieces you left behind,
as if holding them
might bring you back.
I love you still,
not with the sweetness of before,
but with the ache
of someone who knows
what it means to lose
and still
choose to love and to hope.
Quixotically Perfect 