Lost
World collapses on itself when I think of you
Expanse of this world a bitch
Reduced to nothing when I think of you.
My hands, I feel them only when they touch you,
You left me with a kiss,
Fit for a miser.
And, oh, how I have missed your face.
Backstory: The Weight of What’s Left Behind
Some people don’t leave all at once.
They linger—in the spaces between thoughts, in the ghost of their touch, in the way silence hums their name when no one is speaking.
You tell yourself the world is vast, that there’s more to see, more to hold, more to chase. But in the quiet moments, when everything slows, it shrinks to just one thing. Them.
A kiss too brief, too careful—like they were rationing affection. Like love was something to be saved, not spent.
And now, all you’re left with is that feeling—the absence that never truly leaves.