Someone Always Gets Hurt

Love retreats and longing starts, A hush where once were songs and stars. We do not fight, we do not plead, But silence grows like the wind-swept weed. The walls are kind, the floor is cold, We touch no more, and never hold The aching pulse beneath the skin— The trembling sigh, the tears begin. You wait for me, I wait for you, Like dusk that waits for morning’s hue. But pride is quiet, pride is long, It hums a soft, unyielding song. Not hate, oh no—it never came, No fury rose, no bitter blame. Only the frost of things unsaid, And heavy hours we both have bled. No one sees what I withhold, The gentleness that won’t be told, The hands that longed but did not dare, The words that hung and died in air. And what I never did, they scorn— The nothingness that love must mourn. I only waited, only stayed, While all our bright beginnings frayed. Now in the dark, I taste the cost: Love, not broken—only lost. And though the wound is still unheard, Someone always gets hurt.