It’s not about you, that the silence stings,

Only that the order I expected has vanished within me.

You hold a mirror, yet take nothing away,

I was the one who could no longer love.

It’s not about you, if I shiver at night,

My heart never asked, never waited, never hoped.

You are an invitation, but no answer to anything,

You only showed me, something still flickers inside.

Fairy tales are written by imagination, not desire,

Songs can speak of loneliness, fear, or a hidden fire.

Those who feel nothing are pitied by the poet,

But joy is giving love, even if it’s not received.

I rejoice, because I feel,

I pity those who don’t, hiding behind their armor.

Cowardice may cloak them, but their pain is clear,

Suddenly, everything feels lighter.

To bathe in pain, to touch another’s ache,

Hurts to see suffering denied or concealed.

Sorrow is missing what could be found,

Or leaving what is lost, unsearched.

Joy is giving love, without expecting a return,

Pain lies in what you let slip away.

The heart that feels, that dares to touch,

Lives free, even through loss and shadow.