Unsaid Yets

[ Untitled, scribbled across a torn piece of paper.]

I didn’t know how to speak without rearranging myself. By the time I found the sentence, I wasn’t the same person who needed to say it. There were moments I loved you so loudly within myself, I thought you’d feel it across the room. But I said nothing. And smiled instead. And hoped that was enough. It wasn’t. And I’m sorry. Not for the silence. But for pretending it didn’t matter.

[ Scratched in the margins of a book.]

Confusion’s a dance in what we say. We sway. You lean close then drift away. A riddle I can’t replay.

“Unheld”

When you love someone you can’t store, the ache is unbearable. We build museums out of breath and purpose. We press flowers between pages because we can’t press moments. We record voices because we can’t hold them in our hands. And then there are ones who remember by nature, not just by choice. Not everyone, but those we are… The ones who are like this are keepers of stars. And sometimes, of each other. This ache I was borne with—not to be remembered, but to be lived with.

Ire Reverie

I speak to the dark one. The one that twists and burns under her own weight. The one that quiets before she should.

[ An unsent draft.]

“I knew the Earth wasn’t mine, but I didn’t expect it to be this lonely.”