the whispers of my heart grow.
No longer a breath of air—
but sound.
Fury.
Passion.

Things I had learned to forget.
Things I needed to forget.
Until I found you,
passing through it all over again.

Then he—
He took his warmth from my chill heart.
Left me grasping,
turning more and more to poems.
Pouring out my thoughts,
like a dam too full to hold itself together.

Sometimes,
I’d need pages and pages just to make sense of the chaos.
Other times,
a few lines felt right,
like they could carry the weight.

But every day now,
everything slows.
Slower and slower.

“It’s okay to move,” they said.
“Moving is healthy.”
But my heart,
my stubborn, aching heart
it doesn’t want to listen.

I waited up for him,
hoping he’d just reach out.
Just text.
Just call.

I blocked him,
thinking it might bring me peace.
But peace never came.

Every day,
I long for him.
I remember...