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A Shelf of Things I Never Said

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Maimoona Abidi

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“There’s still sand in my shoes from august. the kind that clings, stubborn and golden like you did. Love was loud then. It dripped down our backs like sweat, sweet and impossible to hold. We kissed like we were trying to memorize the shape of goodbye before it even arrived. And still I’d follow the hum of locusts, the scent of sun-warmed citrus, every blistered street and blooming ache if it meant one more evening where your name didn’t taste like leaving.”

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Book:A Shelf of Things I Never Said
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“Grief, when it comes like this, arrives without a knock. It wraps around the wrist when I hear a song I don’t skip fast enough. It sits in the passenger seat when I pass a street I swore I’d never return to. Some feelings never got spoken. Some wounds were too polite to bleed. I let them rot quietly like fruit forgotten in a fridge corner, sweetness gone sour, but still too familiar to throw away.”

LovePoetryLossGriefHealingSadRomanticLongingKissHearbreak
Book:A Shelf of Things I Never Said
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“Do you still feel it in some happy elsewhere, a quieter version of us sits cross-legged on the kitchen floor, arguing over groceries, your hand reaching for mine between apples and oat-milk. Sometimes, I imagine running into you as a stranger. Your eyes flicker with almost-recognition, like they remember the weight of my name in the dark. We smile, polite. You walk away. I fall in. I don’t know if the abyss was always meant to feel like home. But I keep its door half open just in case you ever want to return as someone new. Or worse as someone real.”

LovePoetryLossGriefHealingSadRomanticLongingKissHearbreak
Book:A Shelf of Things I Never Said
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