After the Laughter

I seek to be loved,

but love feels like capture—

a snare I fear,

a cage dressed in roses.

There is always the after.

I thought I had it,

the warmth, the wonder—

but not soon after

came the silence,

the slipping away,

the hollow where joy once lived.

Now the air is colder.

No more laughter.

No more I adore you.

Only the echo,

the after.

So I set out—

lantern in hand,

heart bruised but burning.

Every shadow looks like a chance,

every stranger, a spark.

I walk through thorns,

chasing whispers,

following the faint scent of devotion

like wolves track blood.

The night is endless,

but I run through it,

hunting for warmth,

for a gaze that does not vanish,

for a touch that does not turn to smoke.

I am no longer waiting to be caught.

I am the one who hunts.

And love—

love will not escape me forever.