I used to think disaster arrived with a warning—flashing lights, trembling ground, a voice saying, “Brace yourself.” But the worst ones never do. They come softly, almost tenderly, in the shape of a name whispered in the dark, the weight of an unsent message, the silence after someone walks away.

These poems are about heartache in its many forms—the kind that keeps you up at night, the kind that makes you question everything, the kind that vanishes as quickly as it arrives. They are about someone who only wanted admiration, not affection. About a love that was fleeting, sweet as a summer night and just as temporary. About the one that left scars, made me shrink myself until I almost disappeared. And about the one I am falling for now, unsure if this time, love will stay.

I wrote these poems between the ages of 21 and 25, falling in love and falling apart, over and over and over again. They are the echoes of every reckless confession, every night spent wondering if I was enough, every moment when love felt like both a refuge and a ruin.

I wrote these poems to make sense of it all. To retrace the steps that led me here, to untangle the threads of fate, to find meaning in what felt like chaos. Maybe you’ve stood in the same ruins. Maybe you’ve felt the same pull toward something—or someone—you couldn’t outrun. If so, I wrote these poems for you.

I have worn every ruin like a keepsake.
And yet, here I stand, crowned in something softer.

POEMS WRITTEN BY CRISTOPHER LÓPEZ