January tenth, we touched like before,
But something was missing, we chose to ignore.
No sign of an end, no hurtful goodbye,
Just silence that settled and never asked why.
You reached for my body, but haven’t since then,
No heat, no cold, just a slow, dull amen.
Now nights pass by empty, and distance it stays,
A space we have shaped in separate ways.
It wasn’t a fight, nor one final breath,
More like a sense of a slow living death.
And still I lie there, at the scene of the crime,
It was January the tenth.
Our very last time.
Okay, that is gut-wrenching. To lay there and live a slow death that you did not sign up for. Not right at all.
This is executed well
Thanks for the thoughtful comment Fia.
It’s not right and it’s not wrong , it’s just the way it is.Like everything in life,even suffering is impermanent.
🙏
Quite moving..thank you for sharing
The slow death of this is like not having closure.
I’ve often felt that pain is preferable to apathy. That quiet passing out of space. This haunts & hurts. So often the case, & always hard
First the Technical: Excellent consistency with meter, beautifully executed rhyme.
Composition: Incredible depth. As Willow noted, the piece reflects a falling away, a loss of touch and intimacy with no explanation. It’s a death of sorts, and you’ve painted it perfectly. Really well done.