u/oceaninbetween

I used to say that you are mine and I am yours. Now the sad truth is that, you were mine and I’ll always be yours.

You are the wound I still worship.

Even now,
I feel the thread of you
stitched beneath my ribs,
pulling softly whenever the night grows quiet enough
for me to hear my own ruin.
I saw you whole.

Not the face turned toward the world,
not the armor,
not the practiced silence —
you.

And I loved you there.
You should know that.
You should know you mattered
like scripture matters to the dying.

Something in me collapsed
trying to carry the weight of it.
My mind became a house with the lights blown out,
rooms flooding one by one
while I stood inside
pretending not to drown.

I do not know what broke me.
Only that grief has lived in my throat for days now,
aching,
burning,
asking for you in every language my body knows.

And still —
I believe every feeling was real.
Even if they only belonged to me.

Sometimes I think I was merely borrowing a future
that was never mine to keep.
An imposter standing in the doorway of something holy,
waiting for someone to realize
I did not belong there beside you.

But God,
what I would have given
to sit beside you on that porch
beneath the open night sky,
shoulder to shoulder in the cold,
saying nothing at all
while the stars swallowed the dark above us.

I think somewhere deep within myself
I already know:
there is no “us” in this lifetime.
Only echoes.
Only almosts.

But if souls survive the body,
if longing survives death,
then mine will search for yours
through every next life
until the universe finally grows tired of separating us.

I wake reluctantly now.
Like something dragged back from the depths before it was ready to surface.
The morning light feels invasive.
Cruel, almost.
It spills across the room as though it expects something living to greet it.
But there is only this hollow thing wearing my shape.
I move through the hours like a ghost haunting its own body,
feeding routines to a machine that no longer remembers why it continues.
And underneath it all,
this unbearable ache.
You exist somewhere beyond my reach
and still my mind builds shrines to you from fragments —
songs, colours, passing words,
the silence between midnight and dawn.
Everything bleeds back to you eventually.
I fear the emptiness almost as much as I worship it.
Because at least inside the dark
there is quiet.
At least there,
I do not have to pretend I am healing.
Some nights I close my eyes and wish only for absence.
Not violence.
Not destruction.
Just stillness vast enough to swallow thought whole.
Because I am tired of carrying this heart
like a wound that refuses to become a scar.

Cupid did not miss.
The arrow buried deep,
past skin,
past bone,
into something sacred.
And now I fear
it struck too true.
There is love in me still,
raw and unwavering,
but somewhere in its becoming
it fractured the architecture of my mind.
I have drowned quietly for days.
Salt rivers down tired cheeks,
grieving something I cannot name,
something I do not know how to mend.
My fingers trace your name
inked upon me long before fate unveiled its meaning,
as though my body knew
what my soul would later suffer.
I remember you.
I remember us.
Every whispered confession,
every sacred exchange,
every impossible moment
that felt carved from eternity itself.
None of it was false.
None of it imagined.
I searched for ways to close the distance.
Measured impossible roads.
Considered uprooting my entire world
just to breathe the same air as you.
But every path became a minefield,
and every dream drew blood.
Your gift still waits in silence beside me,
the sculpture I shaped for you with careful hands,
with pieces of my heart pressed quietly into its making.
And now it lingers here,
unclaimed,
while I sit imagining the way your eyes
might have softened when you opened it,
the small smile I would have carried like religion for the rest of my life.
I wrote letters like prayers.
Poems like offerings.
Every word carried truth.
Every syllable belonged to you.
You are my twin flame.
Perhaps this world was never built
to survive the heat of us.
So I let you go
with shaking hands
and a collapsing heart,
because love is not always holding on.
Sometimes it is sacrifice.
I crossed oceans of time to find you.
I can endure a little more distance now,
knowing somewhere beneath this same sky,
you exist.
And if not in this lifetime,
then perhaps in the next.
I pray your heart is gentler with itself
than mine has been with me.
You deserved softness,
not more suffering,
and it destroys me knowing
I became another wound you had to carry.
You live inside every minute of my day.
I will honour my promise.
I will not reach for you again.
But I needed you to know—
this love was real.
Every moment.
Every word.
Every part of me.
And I hope…
when you sit before the sea,
watching the waves break endlessly against the shore,
you might, for a moment, see me again in the blue—
not as a wound,
not as a weight,
but as something gentle in the distance,
something that once loved you truly.
My beautiful princess,
forgive me.
I am forever sorry.

Cupid did not miss.
The arrow buried deep,
past skin,
past bone,
into something sacred.
And now I fear
it struck too true.
There is love in me still,
raw and unwavering,
but somewhere in its becoming
it fractured the architecture of my mind.
I have drowned quietly for days.
Salt rivers down tired cheeks,
grieving something I cannot name,
something I do not know how to mend.
My fingers trace your name
inked upon me long before fate unveiled its meaning,
as though my body knew
what my soul would later suffer.
I remember you.
I remember us.
Every whispered confession,
every sacred exchange,
every impossible moment
that felt carved from eternity itself.
None of it was false.
None of it imagined.
I searched for ways to close the distance.
Measured impossible roads.
Considered uprooting my entire world
just to breathe the same air as you.
But every path became a minefield,
and every dream drew blood.
Your gift still waits in silence beside me,
the sculpture I shaped for you with careful hands,
with pieces of my heart pressed quietly into its making.
And now it lingers here,
unclaimed,
while I sit imagining the way your eyes
might have softened when you opened it,
the small smile I would have carried like religion for the rest of my life.
I wrote letters like prayers.
Poems like offerings.
Every word carried truth.
Every syllable belonged to you.
You are my twin flame.
Perhaps this world was never built
to survive the heat of us.
So I let you go
with shaking hands
and a collapsing heart,
because love is not always holding on.
Sometimes it is sacrifice.
I crossed oceans of time to find you.
I can endure a little more distance now,
knowing somewhere beneath this same sky,
you exist.
And if not in this lifetime,
then perhaps in the next.
I pray your heart is gentler with itself
than mine has been with me.
You deserved softness,
not more suffering,
and it destroys me knowing
I became another wound you had to carry.
You live inside every minute of my day.
I will honour my promise.
I will not reach for you again.
But I needed you to know—
this love was real.
Every moment.
Every word.
Every part of me.
And I hope…
when you sit before the sea,
watching the waves break endlessly against the shore,
you might, for a moment, see me again in the blue—
not as a wound,
not as a weight,
but as something gentle in the distance,
something that once loved you truly.
My beautiful princess,
forgive me.
I am forever sorry.