The World Bleeds

For the one whose absence has carved an eternal chasm in me, the one who once held the universe in their gaze, but now exists only as a memory I can scarcely touch. For the one whose love once felt like the breath of the earth beneath my feet, but now slips through my fingers like sand, leaving only the sting of what was lost. For the one I still ache for, even as I try to move through a world that no longer bears your name. For the one who taught me the depths of love, and the unbearable weight of its fading light. These words are for you— for the love that still lingers within me, even though you’ve long since disappeared.

The world bleeds,

And the wrong story unfolds.

This is not how it was meant to be.

This can’t be right.

I don’t want this to happen.

I am yours, and you are mine.

We met, and the world faded.

It was only us—our souls entwined,

drawn together like constellations fated to burn in the same sky.

It was all-consuming, yet peaceful,

a love that felt ancient and boundless,

like something written long before we took our first breath.

But then the storms came.

We fought like wildfire and wind,

raging, reckless, tearing through each other’s hearts.

I left.

You ached.

I needed space to breathe,

but then you wounded me, so I ran again.

Then silence—

a year-long exile from your voice.

A year of missing you until the echoes of your name

became a ghost inside my chest.

You changed.

I unraveled.

I lost myself in the spaces you used to fill.

And now, my love—

my memories of you are slipping through my fingers,

fading like ink on an old letter.

Please, don’t go.

It has been so long since you truly held me in your heart.

Perhaps you still love me.

But do you love me the way you once did?

Or have you become a shadow of the person I knew,

a stranger wearing the face of someone I once called home?

Maybe this is mercy—

God’s way of dulling the edges of sorrow,

blurring the past so that I can survive the present.

No matter how hard I try to hold on,

our laughter, our whispered promises,

the warmth of your hand in mine—

they feel like remnants of a dream.

Even when you speak,

I do not know you anymore.

And the version of you that I loved has long since faded.

It isn’t that I loved an illusion.

I saw you—truly saw you.

Your flaws, your darkness, your sharp edges.

And still, I loved you with everything I had.

Not for what I imagined you to be,

but for who you were.

But even that you is gone.

Love of mine,

in me, you will never die.

I will keep you locked inside my ribs,

etched into my soul deeper than my own name.

Yet life stretches before me, endless and hollow,

a path I must walk without you—

until I find you again.

Many will love you.

Many can love you.

But none will love you like I do.

Because to others, love may come easily, freely,

but I have paid for every moment with you in sorrow and longing.

I have spent years aching for what others might take for granted.

Even the smallest touch, the briefest smile—

I know their worth, because I have starved for them.

I have dreamed of them since I was a child.

To the world, you are just another soul.

To me, you were something sacred,

something no wealth on earth could ever buy.

And now, there is a you-shaped void inside me,

growing, expanding, devouring all that I am.

It has outgrown even you—

so vast that not even your return could fill it.

Even if you stood before me now,

even if I could touch you again,

it would never be enough.

But love—true love—does not turn away from its own weight.

It carries what it must, knowing the cost from the beginning.

And so, I will bear this sorrow,

as I always have,

because I knew the price of loving you.

And I chose to pay it anyway.

© 2025 Inaba Tarek