Once, we existed like twin stars pulled into the same orbit—light-years of knowing, and not needing to ask why.We shared time as if it were an invisible thread,tying cups of coffee to soft laughter,threading daydreams through skylines and quiet afternoons.There was no storm when we ended.No dramatic eclipse, no collision of hearts.Just a gradual slipping,like sand leaving a closed hand,or a train that passes without you noticing the station.We became travelers on diverging tracks.Not lost—only rerouted.You turned into someone who belongedto other streets, other voices.And I—I became fluent in silence,learning how to greet the days without your name in them.I search sometimes, not for you,but for the outline you left behind—in songs I no longer play,in corners of rooms where we once sat,in the hush that follows remembering.It’s strange how the heart,so loud in love,can go quiet with such grace.Not broken—just paused,as if waiting for a chapter that forgot to be written.We are no longer lovers, not even friends.Just echoes of each other’s summer.Two shadows that once intersectedat the golden hour.And yet—when the light bends just right,I still see us—almost.

Arcade Philosofer

Love this poem. The ending is beautiful. Good work!

Ashiiru

<div><span style="font-size: 1em;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-size: 1em;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-size: 1em;">Once, we existed like twin stars pulled into the same orbit—</span></div><div>light-years of knowing, and not needing to ask why.</div><div>We shared time as if it were an invisible thread,</div><div>tying cups of coffee to soft laughter,</div><div>threading daydreams through skylines and quiet afternoons.</div><div><br></div><div>There was no storm when we ended.</div><div>No dramatic eclipse, no collision of hearts.</div><div>Just a gradual slipping,</div><div>like sand leaving a closed hand,</div><div>or a train that passes without you noticing the station.</div><div><br></div><div>We became travelers on diverging tracks.</div><div>Not lost—only rerouted.</div><div>You turned into someone who belonged</div><div>to other streets, other voices.</div><div>And I—I became fluent in silence,</div><div>learning how to greet the days without your name in them.</div><div><br></div><div>I search sometimes, not for you,</div><div>but for the outline you left behind—</div><div>in songs I no longer play,</div><div>in corners of rooms where we once sat,</div><div>in the hush that follows remembering.</div><div><br></div><div>It’s strange how the heart,</div><div>so loud in love,</div><div>can go quiet with such grace.</div><div>Not broken—just paused,</div><div>as if waiting for a chapter that forgot to be written.</div><div><br></div><div>We are no longer lovers, not even friends.</div><div>Just echoes of each other’s summer.</div><div>Two shadows that once intersected</div><div>at the golden hour.</div><div><br></div><div>And yet—</div><div>when the light bends just right,</div><div>I still see us—</div><div>almost.</div><div><br></div><div><br></div>