You left like winter steals the last leaf from a dying tree,
slowly, silently,
yet the emptiness echoed louder than thunder inside me.
And now my heart feels like an abandoned cathedral,
still standing,
but filled with shattered glass and prayers that no longer reach heaven.
People say time heals,
but time has only taught me
how to carry pain more elegantly.
I smile with bruised lips,
laugh with storms hidden beneath my ribs,
and walk around with your ghost stitched into my shadow.
You were not just a person to me.
You were a lighthouse in the middle of my endless ocean,
the only flame my darkness ever trusted.
And now that you’re gone,
I drift like a broken ship,
sailing through nights with no stars brave enough to guide me home.
It’s strange how love can turn into a dagger.
Not the kind that kills instantly—
the crueler kind,
the one that stays lodged inside the chest,
twisting every time your name crosses my mind.
I still reach for memories like a starving man reaches for crumbs,
knowing they can never truly feed me.
I replay your voice in my head
like an old song trapped in a cracked vinyl record.
Every word skips,
every silence bleeds,
yet I cannot stop listening.
Because loving you became a habit stronger than breathing.
And maybe that’s the tragedy of hearts like mine—
we turn people into galaxies.
We orbit them faithfully,
even after they collapse into black holes
and swallow every piece of light we once had.
Still, somewhere inside this ruin,
a small part of me keeps a candle lit for you.
Not because you deserve all this pain,
but because love, real love,
does not know how to leave quietly.
So I will heal slowly,
like the moon rebuilding itself after every disappearance.
I will learn to hold my own hand
when yours is no longer there.
But even then,
even after the wounds become scars instead of open rivers,
a part of my soul will always whisper your name
like a prayer it never stopped believing in.
Because some people are not merely loved.
They become part of your bloodstream,
part of your seasons,
part of the air your lungs search for at midnight.
And losing them
feels less like heartbreak
and more like surviving the collapse of an entire universe.
slowly, silently,
yet the emptiness echoed louder than thunder inside me.
And now my heart feels like an abandoned cathedral,
still standing,
but filled with shattered glass and prayers that no longer reach heaven.
People say time heals,
but time has only taught me
how to carry pain more elegantly.
I smile with bruised lips,
laugh with storms hidden beneath my ribs,
and walk around with your ghost stitched into my shadow.
You were not just a person to me.
You were a lighthouse in the middle of my endless ocean,
the only flame my darkness ever trusted.
And now that you’re gone,
I drift like a broken ship,
sailing through nights with no stars brave enough to guide me home.
It’s strange how love can turn into a dagger.
Not the kind that kills instantly—
the crueler kind,
the one that stays lodged inside the chest,
twisting every time your name crosses my mind.
I still reach for memories like a starving man reaches for crumbs,
knowing they can never truly feed me.
I replay your voice in my head
like an old song trapped in a cracked vinyl record.
Every word skips,
every silence bleeds,
yet I cannot stop listening.
Because loving you became a habit stronger than breathing.
And maybe that’s the tragedy of hearts like mine—
we turn people into galaxies.
We orbit them faithfully,
even after they collapse into black holes
and swallow every piece of light we once had.
Still, somewhere inside this ruin,
a small part of me keeps a candle lit for you.
Not because you deserve all this pain,
but because love, real love,
does not know how to leave quietly.
So I will heal slowly,
like the moon rebuilding itself after every disappearance.
I will learn to hold my own hand
when yours is no longer there.
But even then,
even after the wounds become scars instead of open rivers,
a part of my soul will always whisper your name
like a prayer it never stopped believing in.
Because some people are not merely loved.
They become part of your bloodstream,
part of your seasons,
part of the air your lungs search for at midnight.
And losing them
feels less like heartbreak
and more like surviving the collapse of an entire universe.