By Shirley Liriano ’25
My brain recorded the rhythm of your heart
It replays it like a broken record
I try to change the station
But the tune still lingers
I wrap myself in covers
Wishing to replicate your arms
They’re not tight enough and not warm enough
Not firm enough and not gentle enough
They were my home
I am homeless now
I could draw the map in your hands
I wish I could travel along them once again
I try to remember back
My fingers running through your curls
Playing with the ringlets
Drawing out the shape of your eyes
I hope you remember,
Don’t wear your hair wet or you’ll get sick
Don’t trim your nails too short or you’ll bleed
Don’t sleep in that position or your neck will hurt
Don’t hug your pillow too tight,
I’ll envy it.
Your eyes were always too big for you anyway,
You never got to see the chemistry in us.
I used to stare at you as you slept
Making sure the world outside didn’t disturb you.
In the bubble surrounding us
There were always words left unsaid.
Now all I have is the ghost of what once was
A cold bed
And empty hands.
I miss hearing your laughter
Gradually get louder
The way your dimples slowly appeared as I dragged on the joke.
You always put on a tough persona,
But I know how gentle your heart is.
I know the scars that you never mention
I hope you find someone to hold you as you let out your silent cry
The battle you’ll never acknowledge to others.