Where'd it go?


Wasn’t love once
a letter left on the window,
a hand reaching out before the fall,
a name written slowly
on the spine of memory?

Now it flickers like
a text left on read,
a plan “maybe” for someday,
a love replaced by
timelines, typing bubbles,
and terms without meaning.

Where’s the celebration
for small wins?
The silence held
for big griefs?
The patience,
the pages,
the staying?

Wasn’t love once
a steady lamp
in storm weathered rooms?

Maybe it’s still here
tucked beneath filters and fears,
buried in hearts
that scroll past it.

Or maybe,
we’ve just renamed it
so many times,
we forgot
what it looked like.


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