I loved just once- no second flame,
No echo came, no whispered name.
I gave my breath, my pulse, my days,
And watched it all just slip away.
It wasn't loud, it didn't scream,
Just quietly broke every dream.
A gentle theft, a silent art-
The slow undoing of a heart.
Now time has passed, they say I've healed,
The wounds are closed, the scars concealed.
I laugh, I live, I play my part,
But something's missing in my heart.
The days are warm, the skies are clear.
No storms, no chaos drawing near.
Yet in the calm, a hollow stays,
A quiet ache that never strays.
Sometimes at night, I almost feel
A ghost of love that once was real.
A fleeting urge, a fragile spark-
Then it dissolves into the dark.
I wonder if I've lost that art,
To trust, to fall, to give my heart.
Or if it broke so deep, so true,
There's nothing left for love to do.
And still, I miss the way it burned.
The reckless way my soul had turned.
To pour, to give, to overflow,
To love someone and let it show.
Not her- just love itself, I mean,
That vivid aching in-between.
The way it hurt, the way truth shown
God, how I miss not being alone.
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