Whispers of a Lost Love

I remember you—

the way your hands fit mine,

like rivers that knew the curves of my soul,

like fire that kissed the shadows of my skin.

Even now, long after silence claimed our nights,

I feel your warmth in the hollow of my chest,

your absence a weight I carry, tender and sharp.

Every evening, I trace your name

through the memory of my veins,

letting it burn, letting it ache,

as if the letters themselves

could reach across time and pull you back to me.

I whisper to the dark,

hoping somehow the wind will carry

my confession to where you are,

where your heart beats still

against the ghost of mine.

I remember your lips—

soft, daring, dangerous,

the way they pressed against mine

like they knew the secrets I hadn’t dared tell,

like they had mapped the constellations of my desire.

I remember the scent of you,

a storm of jasmine and midnight,

and how it clung to the curve of your neck,

and how it haunted my dreams

when we were apart.

Oh, how I want you now.

Not just your memory,

not just the shadow of your touch,

but you, fully, entirely,

like the sun rises to claim the day.

I want to press my lips to yours

and find in your mouth the apology

we never spoke aloud,

the promise we left unspoken,

the love we buried beneath our fear.

I remember the way your eyes

caught the light,

how they could ignite the darkest hours of me,

how they could make me tremble,

even when my pride said I must not.

And yet, here I am, trembling,

because nothing I have done,

no walls I have built,

no silences I have kept,

can erase the ache of you,

the endless pull of your absence.

Do you remember the night we almost touched forever?

Do you remember the words left unsaid,

the hands that lingered in the space between?

I think of it often,

like a prayer I repeat silently,

hoping the universe will hear

and bring us back

to the place where our bodies

and our hearts

could speak freely, without shame,

without fear, without regret.

I crave the warmth of you,

the brush of your skin against mine,

the way our breaths would mingle,

the way our bodies remembered

what our hearts could not yet say.

I crave the whisper of your name

on the edge of my lips,

the heat that rises

from a longing too fierce to bear alone.

I ache for you—

for every moment we lost,

for every touch we denied,

for every kiss

that could have been ours.

Do you feel it too,

the pull that bends the world between us,

that twists the air when we pass in dreams,

that lingers on the edges of our days?

I do.

I feel it in my bones,

in my pulse,

in the hollow spaces

where only you fit.

If I could reach across the distance,

I would take your face in my hands,

trace every line and shadow,

memorize the way your lips curve,

the way your eyes catch the moonlight,

and I would kiss you, slowly,

like the world is ending

and this is the only truth left.

I remember the nights we spent silent,

hearts speaking in tremors and touches,

fingers brushing, breaths mingling,

and how even the darkness

could not hide the fire between us.

And now, even in the emptiness,

I feel that fire,

and it whispers your name,

it pulls me closer,

it will not let me go.

I long for you—

for the ache and the rapture,

for the laughter that followed our sighs,

for the stolen glances,

for the moments when love

was all we had

and all we needed.

I want you back,

not just as a memory,

not just as a shadow,

but as you, real and warm,

as mine again.

I want to taste the sweetness of your forgiveness,

the danger of your desire,

the endless wonder of our love

unbroken, reborn.

And if the night permits,

if the stars hear my confession,

I will find you.

I will take you

with every part of me that ever loved,

every fragment that ever ached,

every longing that ever burned.

For losing you was a wound,

but desiring you again

is my salvation.

And in this fire,

in this ache,

in this endless, beautiful yearning,

I am yours.

I have always been yours,

and I will always be.