Edges
I am walking the edges of what we were,
where memory meets the present,
and every step feels like a question
without an answer.
I move forward,
yet I am still here,
trapped between letting go
and holding tight,
between the ache of loss
and the pull of desire
that never truly fades.
Your face lingers in shadows,
in the quiet spaces of my day,
and I catch myself
reaching for something
that no longer exists.
Edges are strange things,
they teach you to balance,
to feel the weight of longing
without letting it tip you over.
I am learning to live
with the tension,
to let it shape me
without consuming me.
And still, when I close my eyes,
I taste the ghost of your lips,
the memory of your warmth,
and I wonder
if I will ever fully step away
or if desire
will always trace the lines of your absence,
drawing me back
to the edges
where love refuses to die.
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