Maybe, one day, I’ll be loved:
I’ve had a taste of love, a very glimpse of the light at the end of the tunnel. The feeling of pure romance dripping off of your bottom lip isn’t a feeling lost upon me.
The ghost of a touch appears every once in a while, the faint brush of finger tips comes as a surprise. I don’t remember the limited vast memories I have of being held every once in a while.
The sound of laughter plays on my record player, I’m just trying to feel something that left me long ago. It’s weird, but it feels like it’s still around when I know it’s not coming back, not for a while.
Sunsets reflect in those eyes oh so forgotten, etched into a place I got locked out of forever ago when I lost the key. I write down all the feelings I used to feel hoping that the day it happens again, that it’ll be worth it.
Surround myself with love from others and I just get sad, but that’s understandable when it’s something only other people have had.
Maybe, one day, I’ll be loved,
But that day’s not today.
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Author:
Georgia Watson (
Offline) - Published: March 30th, 2026 09:07
- Category: Love
- Views: 5
- Users favorite of this poem: Tristan Robert Lange
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Comments1
Georgia, there’s a real vulnerability in this that comes through clearly. The way memory, absence, and hope all sit together without forcing resolution gives it weight. That final line lands exactly where it needs to. Strong piece, my friend. 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛
Thank you x
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