A Year Too Late
This feels a little silly—
a speech rehearsed, now scattered air.
I tried to speak, but silence won;
the words, once loud, are no longer there.
There’s so much more I meant to say,
but meaning fades with passing time.
It isn’t grief that holds me still—
just you, still drifting through my mind.
A year has passed. The seasons turned.
Yet here I am, the same old tune.
Not in the way I used to love—
no morning texts, no whispered moons.
But still, I love you. That part stays.
You were once mine. You held my heart.
And though I’m fine, I’m still afraid
this love will never fall apart.
I picture you, just as you dreamed—
your perfect job, your life fulfilled.
I pass through parks and catch a face,
and wonder if I ever will…
…see you again. My chest caves in.
Not out of hope—but of regret.
A fleeting wish, a silent ache
for someone I can’t quite forget.
I’m not in love—not anymore.
You weren’t the man I needed, true.
You never really knew me well,
but still, a part of me loved you.
You feared the depth that love demands,
and let it slip from trembling hands.
You let me fall—you watched me break,
and I forgave. For both our sakes.
I always knew this wouldn’t last.
You’d never love me like I did.
And yet I stayed. I gave you all.
And let you hurt what I now hid.
I wish I said these words aloud,
but silence served us better, maybe.
So here’s my truth, a year too late—
I loved you then. I love you lately.
Call me naive, or call me foolish,
but they don’t know what it was like
to feel your love for fleeting moments—
to feel, for once, I got it right.
You mocked the way I swore forever.
You laughed at vows I tried to give.
But oh, how cruel, and how ironic—
I kept my word. I still forgive.
If only you had fought for us,
had dared to feel, to take a chance.
But you stayed safe, and I moved on,
while dancing with a ghosted dance.
I don’t resent you—not at all.
You are who you have always been.
I wish you joy, even if
it never circles back to me again.
I see you now with someone new.
Her hands hold yours. She loves your laugh.
I hope she gives you what I couldn’t—
a softer light, a gentler path.
Be happy, hon. That’s all I ask.
Be loved, be seen, be whole, be true.
I’ll carry love like folded letters,
a quiet flame, just out of view.
And if the years should dim my name,
should all my skies forget your face—
know this remains: somewhere on Earth,
someone loves you.
Still.
With grace.
