Remnants of you (Revisited):
Traces of you haunt the edges of my days—
ghosts whispering of what I lost,
again and again.
Each time I apologize—
for sleeping too long,
feeling too deep,
speaking too much,
your voice echoes behind mine.
Each time I go silent—
because my joy was too loud,
my sorrow too sharp,
my laughter too alive,
I remember.
Each time I hesitate to speak—
wondering if I’m overthinking,
oversharing,
out of line,
you return.
Each time I long to ask for what I need—
but fear I’m asking too much,
reacting too strongly,
needing too loudly,
I feel your shadow at my lips.
You once said
you’d never seen love in someone’s eyes
like you saw it in mine—
that you loved the way I looked at you
with awe,
with wonder,
with fire.
You loved that I couldn’t sit still,
that I craved the new and the beautiful,
that I gave my heart to all things
and fell in love with the world a little more each day.
But as that love poured outward,
you recoiled.
I became too much—
too curious, too tender,
too radiant for your weary gaze.
You blamed me as my light dimmed.
I blamed myself for dimming it.
The very traits you adored
became stones in your shoes.
My wonder wore you out.
My questions, my joy,
my thirst for life—
they drained you.
I was a breath of fresh air
until your smoke-stained lungs
could no longer bear to breathe me in.
And so I punished myself.
I hushed my voice,
clipped my curiosity,
silenced my spirit.
I kept quiet about the flowers I passed.
I hid the laughter gifted by strangers.
I stopped asking, searching, longing.
No new paths,
no new loves,
no new me.
I emptied myself
to make space for your comfort—
but in doing so,
I became unrecognizable.
You said I’d changed.
You were right.
I changed for you.
To earn love instead of criticism.
To feel safe instead of sorry.
But then I was
boring,
lifeless.
Not the spark you once chased.
I stopped speaking—
afraid of wrong words, wrong timing,
of your rage igniting at my misstep.
And still, I kept losing.
But now—
the remnants of you are fading
with every flicker of her return.
She is not gone, only hidden.
She is tracing her way back to me.
She is tentative—
but she is remembering
that she is not
too loud,
too bright,
too full of love.
She is not too much.
She is healing from the poison
you handed me
in cups labeled love.
I poured every drop of her into you
until there was nothing left.
But I am starting to see her again;
her voice,
her wonder,
her wild devotion to the world.
I once thought you killed her.
But no—
I buried her to protect her from you.
Now, I dig gently with my own hands,
whispering apologies to the girl
I silenced for love.
And as she rises,
I miss you less.
Because she and you
cannot share this space.
And this time,
I choose her.
I wish you had loved her
the way I do now.
The way she once loved you.
But I will love her
as she always needed.
As I always needed.
And with every breath she takes,
your remnants disappear.