the wind feels so melancholy
like a bittersweet afternoon
trapped inside a memory you never fully leave behind
the kind of moment that returns years later
through scent or weather
through silence
through a song playing softly in another room
and i sit here
often alone
frolicking through my mind
wandering between thoughts and old conversations
replaying every word
in quieter tones than they were spoken in
as if lowering the volume
might somehow make them hurt less
sometimes it all feels heavy
the tension always building somewhere beneath the surface
like pressure trapped inside walls
and i transcend into fragments of myself
pieces scattered across memories
i no longer agree with
versions of me
that still exist somewhere in time
even after i’ve outgrown them
and i stay here
not because it hurts
but because i want to understand
why things end the way they do
why people pull away from softness
why love frightens people more
than loneliness ever seems to
for this
i will never fully understand
and i touch you
without ever truly feeling you
the numbness exuding from your body
quietly leaking through every movement
through the pauses between your words
through the distance hiding behind your eyes
it reminds me of mountains in the distance
the way they rise unevenly against the horizon
the jagged edges
the loose rocks slipping downward slowly
pieces collapsing from the sides
of what we once called stable
and somehow
that is how this feels too
but i break within this
not downward
not completely apart
but beside myself
like i’m standing outside my own body
watching everything unfold in slow motion
the things we hold each other inside of
the warmth we grasp at
the fullness we create in darker moments
when sadness grows too large to carry alone
and touch becomes the only language
either of us still understands
i look for you in rooms
where i already know i do not belong
in crowded spaces that somehow feel empty
the wind opening doors behind me
as though memory itself
keeps trying to return me to you
a free verse conversation
three sheets too far gone
words slurring softly into vulnerability
honesty arriving only after exhaustion
i left you words
entire conversations we never had
sentences buried in notebooks
thoughts hidden between unfinished poems
confessions disguised as metaphors
yet some people skip a beat
at the edge of being understood
and instead of finding something real
they leave