A haunting poem about being held with tenderness, kept close by hope, yet never truly chosen.
You held me
like I was something precious,
and for a moment
I mistook that tenderness for love.
You kept me close
enough to hope,
but never close enough
to belong.
I was the warmth
you reached for in the dark,
but never the name
you chose in the light.
So I waited—
turning your almosts into promises,
your silence into reasons,
your crumbs into something
I called enough.
But love should not feel
like begging quietly.
It should not ask me
to shrink
just to be kept.
You wanted my softness,
not my heart.
My devotion,
not my truth.
And somewhere
between being wanted
and being chosen,
I disappeared.
Writer and Author.
The Cruelty of Almost A haunting poem about being held with tenderness, kept close by hope, yet never truly chosen. You held me like I was something precious, and for a moment I mistook that tenderness for love. You kept me close enough to hope, but never close enough to belong. I was the warmth you reached for in the dark, but never the name you chose in...
Still Here After You A dark, aching reflection on being abandoned by someone who once felt like home, and learning to survive the silence, erasure, and lasting echo of a love that walked away without looking back. You held my woundsas though they were sacred,then left them openwhen your tenderness grew tired. Your kindness did not vanishall at once,it faded slowly,like evening lightleaving a room. I made myself...
A new reflection is coming soon — written for the hour when the noise fades, the room grows still, and the thoughts we avoid finally become clear.
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