to my love.

In the warm breath of a dwindling summer,

I trace on your back

the outline of what was once only our world—

two silhouettes holding one another under a silky sun.

We spoke in secret whispers,

believing in the silent truths exchanged

in between the lines of our careful lies,

the ones we gave each other

and the ones we told ourselves

as if time was not to be feared,

but enjoyed

in the warmth of your embrace.

Yet the warming season faded,

and with it, the fantasy of our make-believe scene.

the once-vibrant colors of our adoration

fractured and fell into muted shades,

scattered across the remnants of forgotten promises.

We shattered like the links of a once-tethered chain,

our conversations now echoing in an empty room

yet both of us are still inside.

the hope we clung onto turned to a dust,

haunting the corners of a memory that refuses to let go.

Now, as I stand alone in the happy scene

cherishing what we were,

the world stretches and warps in color-less grey

the low murmurs of our past

seem to cut through the air whipping around me,

and I am left to stagger through the ruins,

hopelessly searching for fragments of a love

that no longer fits the shape of who I am becoming.