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Your words chosen
oh so carefully.
Beautifully.
“I want to know you.
Tell me anything and everything.”
Recklessly.
“Let’s move away from here.
We can start over, somewhere warmer.”
You led me down the most romantic path
saying,
“You’re the best thing that ever happened to me.”
I smiled all the way
thinking there would be
flowers, diamonds,
and a stroller at the end.
But it only led to slaughter.
Two cuts:
first shallow—
“I don’t feel the same,”
then deep—
“No, we can’t be friends anymore.”
As my love bled out, I said
“Please stay, don’t leave me
after everything we’ve been through.”
Then I died in your arms.
“I won’t reach out to you again.”
With you
my ghost remains,
haunting your bookshelves,
your morning black coffee,
your beloved leather chair.
Madison Williams is a biomedical researcher and emerging poet living in Virginia. Her work explores longing, devotion, and the liminal spaces between love and loss.