your hands that once
moulded morning coffee
and me
now fold like paper planes
in rain

i once loved the living spaces between
your breaths the pauses
where you used to laugh
and I wanted to join you
but could not

but now grief unrealised
is a twin bed
we sleep in shifts
there is space between us

what remains of us
the muscle memory of holding
someone who is becoming
a new body
another soul
one i no longer
i cannot say it

your pain rises and falls
like a grey chronic wave
washing against a hopeless shore
but i say to myself keep loving
there is nothing else

future tense breaks
into fragments:
will you can we
should i when the

i preserve your former selves
in neat memory jars
shut tight
line them on shelves
next to tomorrow’s
beautiful
uncertainties
and my own doubts

my mind
a seismograph
recording and collecting every
small ripple
of watching you
disappear slowly from
yourself

and i am here
here
right here

and i am not sure i want to be

 

20/6/2025