(original poetry about feeling unlovable) born in march. just after the hearts have faded, after roses wilt in vases, after love songs turn to static on the radio. you arrive in the shadow of warmth, but as you try to reach its grasp, it slips away as if unkind. your close, yet always missing the flame. february, a month that dresses itself in affection with soft hands and red silk, chocolate promises that come wrapped in gold. but its ironic isnt it? its like it was made yet never meant for you. you watched through the glass, as the world held hands without you. you will feel and hear its echo in the cracks of your ribs like a digging knife. a pain without direct source, it calls you. not only in words, but in ache and within the slilence between your breaths. the love is a ghost that smiles in mirrors, brushes your shoulder in crowds, but disappears before you can name it. you reach and reach, but it dances just beyond your fingertips, like the last star before dawn. you were born in the aftermath, in the silence after the fireworks, where the sky remembers the light but offers no warmth. and still you hope, as foolish hearts do, that maybe love got lost on its way to you. but hope is heavy when it’s hollow. and some nights, you wonder if you’re meant only to feel love's absence, not its presence. so painfully close. but. the distance between never quite closes. #heartbreak ❤️