We worship it—from its majestic waves to the enigmas of the deep, but then—who does it worship? (Photo by ⁠Sarah Lee⁠ on ⁠Unsplash)

And on the lows, I curl up in the thickest duvets of grief with sharpest of creases as I mutter your name into the shadows. And I knew I never wanted to be freed. (Photo by ⁠Leio McLaren⁠ on ⁠Unsplash)

Silent, whenever the harsh condemn, and bearing it all for the love of them. (Photo by ⁠Ante Hamersmit⁠ on ⁠Unsplash⁠)

There is a girl who still writes to you. She doesn’t know how not to. (BGM: Bette Davis Eyes, a cover by Taylor Swift; an original song of Kim Carnes // Photo by ⁠Ireland Rogers⁠ on ⁠Unsplash⁠)

Because no matter how wide you stretch your fingers, your hands will always be too small to catch all the pain you want to heal. (BGM: Small Bump by Ed Sheeran // Photo by ⁠Artur Aldyrkhanov⁠ on ⁠Unsplash)

He is across the world in another woman’s arms, and the years have spread us like dandelion seeds, sanding down the edges of our jigsaw parts that used to only fit each other. (Photo by ⁠Rodolfo Sanches Carvalho⁠ on ⁠Unsplash)

And I don't understand why you're the worst thing that every happened to my poetry, if you're the best that ever happened to me. (Photo by ⁠Álvaro Serrano⁠ on ⁠Unsplash)

The one who tasted like peach vitamin water and sweat. (BGM: Kiss Me - cover by Cocoy //

I have left markers for you at every turn. Look for me in everything that catches your breath. (Image by wirestock on Freepik)

But you had a plane to catch, and I was already home. (Photo by Mike Enerio⁠ on ⁠Unsplash)