It was as if I descended through each and every line to arrive at that question, the one that none other than the poet—not even the speaker—can answer.
There’s something devastatingly precise about the way this piece balances desire and self-reproach — that space where memory becomes both a scar and a keepsake. What struck me most is how it resists closure; it doesn’t seek healing so much as understanding. That final question lands like an echo — not for the other person, but for the self who once believed. The poem captures that quiet persistence of aftermath, when you’re no longer in love but still haunted by the architecture of it.
Abby, you’re a miracle! 💚
🥰🥹
Riri, you are the best. Thank you 🖤
Awwweee! 👽
‼️
Abby out here making me a poetry reader for the first time since forced academia.
Wow, fabulous ❤️
Hey Abby,
It was as if I descended through each and every line to arrive at that question, the one that none other than the poet—not even the speaker—can answer.
Best,
Mahdi
There’s something devastatingly precise about the way this piece balances desire and self-reproach — that space where memory becomes both a scar and a keepsake. What struck me most is how it resists closure; it doesn’t seek healing so much as understanding. That final question lands like an echo — not for the other person, but for the self who once believed. The poem captures that quiet persistence of aftermath, when you’re no longer in love but still haunted by the architecture of it.
super good
I am gonna actually cry. Thank you for reading, much less commenting!!
❤️❤️❤️
“Irrational stove-top burner anxieties”
Love that line. Great work!
🙏