I Write For Things
I write for things that I’ve never had,
Like a hand to hold
Or a he to call,
So I cut the cord
And practice leaving.
I built a world where you’d be mine,
Whispered hopes in the quiet,
Swore you’d hear me once,
But the words fell, tangled in silence,
And I stopped speaking.
But how's your life now?
Do you hold his hand in the neon dark?
Does he trace your scars,
The ones I only dreamed of knowing?
Do you give him everything,
Or hold back the parts I wished to touch?
When it hurts, do you reach for me?
Or am I reaching?
Yesterday, I almost said your name.
But I bit my tongue and turned away.
You've changed,
Not much—but just enough to fade away.
Fake memories, four years lost in a fog.
I wrote a hundred ways to say—
What if I let you go,
And meant it this time?
Not just a trick,
Not just a game I played.
I built this place—
But somewhere along the way,
I broke it to pieces.
And so I write for things I’ve never held,
And you were once all of it—
Until the fade to black
Or until you, turning back.