I was a ghost once,
quiet in corners,
dust on the soul,
hollow in the places where music used to live.
for years,
I wore silence like armor,
turned my back on songs,
on sunsets,
on the way two hands can find each other in the dark.
Then she smiled,
and for a moment,
I thought maybe the dead could breathe again.
I peeled off the rust,
grew back pieces I had buried,
spoke the language of warmth
I had sworn I’d forgotten.
I gave her the keys to a world
I’d kept locked behind frostbitten ribs.
Changed the way I walked,
the way I saw myself,
started believing I could be more
than just a shadow in passing.
But I was just a ladder,
held steady till she reached the sky,
then left leaning against nothing
but the memory of a climb.
Now the music hurts again.
Love is a joke with sharp teeth.
And I’m back to sweeping the ashes
of someone I almost became.
But this time,
I wrote it down.
So even if no one reads between the lines,
at least I have.
At least I know
what it cost
to feel again.