A Quiet Thread

Even miles cannot untangle us,
nor silence erase the pulse between.
Through distance, through nights alone,
a part of you lives quietly in me.

This bond, unseen by the world,
defies time, space, and circumstance.
It whispers: you are known,
you are held,
you are home.

I turn the last page of our chapter,
the one that held you and me.
I breathe in the quiet ache,
the finality settling like dusk.

And then I lift my pen.
The next chapter waits—
blank, unclaimed, alive.
No you.
All mine to write.
Alone.

You go silent,
but call me
a poor communicator.

You turn cold,
and still label me
too negative.

If I keep quiet—
I’m distant.
If I speak—
I’m too much,
too sensitive.

Just admit it.
You never wanted me.
Stop handing me mirrors—
the cracks aren’t mine.
They’re yours.
And I’m done holding them.

I return the smile you never gave me.
I set it down,
still wrapped in your silence,
and let the wind carry it home to you.

I release the fire you would not light—
its embers are not mine to tend.
I leave them on your doorstep,
cool as the stone you keep in your chest.

May you find mercy or madness