The Boy I Lost

He doesn’t mind the silence now—
perhaps it brings him peace.
My absence doesn’t trouble him;
maybe my presence never meant a thing.

He is fine,
while tears streak my cheeks like rain on glass.
He is fine,
while my heart fractures quietly beneath the weight.
He breathes with ease,
while I struggle just to catch mine.

I don’t know what changed.
I don’t know when I lost the boy
who once texted every hour,
reassuring the shattered girl he knew.
The boy who hated silence,
who adored my endless, rambling nonsense—
who cried when I cried,
because he couldn't bear my tears.

I don’t know where I lost him.
But he’s gone.

And here I am,
left to pick up what he left behind—
the pieces of me.

Maybe it was my fault.
I met him broken,
whispering, Handle me with care.
Maybe I was too much.
Maybe that’s why
he let me slip through,
to shatter all over again.

But he was once my sweet boy.
And I will love him still—
even with blood trailing from my fingertips,
as I gather myself,
piece by piece.