I've lost so much of myself,
even tomorrow hesitates
to write my name in its lines.
I search for pieces
of who I used to be
hidden in sentences
that no longer feel like mine.
But today,
I don’t know why...
the words I once wrote
stare back like strangers.
As if someone else bled them
onto the page in my place.
Even the ocean of emotion
it dries up inside a man,
slowly,
quietly,
until the salt remains,
and nothing else.
And maybe...
that’s the only true identity we carry:
what’s left
when the feeling is gone.
U