When the Light Forgets My Name
Hi Everyone 👋
Here is another of my poems ❤️
For the father who weeps alone, and still hopes.
My heart cries out for you in the darkness of my day,
a sound no one can hear but me,
a frequency that only emptiness receives.
The tears flow down my cheeks like they are escaping with fear from my eyes,
running from the wreckage of what I became,
fleeing the man I see in the mirror
who doesn't recognize himself anymore.
I press my palm against my chest
and feel the strangling there,
the knot that tightens every morning
when I wake and remember
that you are not here.
That I am not there.
That the distance between us
is measured in years, not miles,
in words I never said,
in silences I chose.
In the darkness of my day—
and it is dark, even at noon,
even under the sun that still rises
like it doesn't know my grief—
I whisper your names into the empty rooms.
I speak them softly, carefully,
like they are made of glass,
like they might break if I say them too loud.
But they are already broken.
We are already broken.
I am already broken.
The tears come without warning.
At the grocery store,
when I see the cereal you used to love.
In the parking lot,
when a song plays on the radio
that reminds me of car rides
with your feet on the dashboard,
with your laugh filling the space
between my silence and my regret.
At night, when the house settles
and the floorboards creak
and for one insane, desperate moment,
I think it might be you.
Coming home.
Coming back.
But it's just the house.
It's just the dark.
It's just me.
Always just me.
I have become a collector of small griefs.
The birthday card I bought but cannot send.
The voicemail I recorded and deleted, recorded and deleted,
until my voice was hoarse from saying nothing.
The photograph I hold until my fingers ache
and the glass grows warm from my touch,
as if warmth could bring you back,
as if love could reverse time,
as if longing could build a bridge
across the ocean of my failures.
My heart cries out.
Do you hear it?
Can you feel it, somewhere,
in the quiet of your own life?
A tremor, perhaps.
A pull.
A memory of a hand on your shoulder
that was too heavy,
that should have been softer,
that didn't know how to stay
without gripping too tight,
without pressing too hard,
without breaking what it meant to hold.
I know I was the one who let go.
I know I pushed you away
with my silences and my pride,
with the walls I built around my chest
because I was taught that feeling was weakness,
that tears were failure,
that love was something you proved
with your back, not your voice,
with your hands, not your heart.
But I feel now.
I feel everything.
I feel the absence of you
like a missing limb.
I feel the phantom ache of your presence,
the ghost of your childhood self
standing in the hallway,
asking me to play,
asking me to stay,
asking me to see you.
And I was always looking elsewhere.
Always fixing something else.
Always too busy to stop
and let you know
you were the thing worth fixing.
Now I fix nothing.
Now I just sit in the dark
and let the tears escape
with fear from my eyes—
fear that you will never know
fear that it is too late
fear that I will die
with your forgiveness
just out of reach
like a word on the tip of my tongue
that I can never quite say
the right way.
But I say it anyway.
In the darkness of my day.
In the silence of my night.
In the space between heartbeats
where all the unspoken things live.
I say it.
I'm sorry.
I love you.
I see you now.
Please.
Please.
Please.
Please remember
For every tear that escapes into the dark, they are not running from you. They are running toward the truth you were too afraid to speak. Speak it now. While there is still breath. While there is still light. While there is still hope.
10
6 comments
When the Light Forgets My Name
powered by
skool.com/the-peaceful-path-4607
This space exists for people who want to slow down, reflect, and live with a little more awareness and kindness — without pressure, labels, or dogma.
Suggested communities
Powered by