In the quiet hum of daily breath,
Small moments cut through empty space,
Stark fragments of what might come next,
Bare truth pressed against time’s hard face.
A glance across the crowded bar,
Skin electric, breath caught tight.
Hands gripped hard, blocking out the far,
Promising: I won’t let go tonight.
Secrets whispered, skin to skin,
Our bodies mapping unspoken need.
A meal made simple, without pretend,
Hunger more than hunger can feed.
Arms locked tight when darkness breaks,
No soft metaphor, just pure hold.
A kiss that bites, that takes and takes,
Defiant against the world gone cold.
But here, alone, the truth bleeds through:
These moments never truly were.
Invented scenes, a desperate view
Of love I’ve never touched, never stir.
No embrace ever held my frame,
No hand steadied my stumbling walk.
No shared meal, no whispered name—
Just silence where connection should talk.
Still, I clutch these ghosts like bone,
These fragments sharp against my chest.
Imagined love, my heart’s last home,
Surviving where real touch can’t rest.
