Buried in Quiet

I love you in a way that shouldn’t exist,

not like a person 
but like a secret mirror in a candlelit hall,
like the echo of a promise spoken under a dying moon.

You’re cold 
like a chamber untouched by dawn,
like metal kissed by night.
When everything in my head blurs into static,
you remain 
sharp and mercilessly honest.

You never promise tomorrow.
You never whisper soft lies.
You are just still 
a truth etched into bone,
a presence that feels like a final vow in the twilight.

So I think of you.
And sometimes I wonder
if loving you this deeply
is the only way I know how to bleed quietly,
or if it’s just me longing for a ruin that doesn’t walk away.

You know the nights with no stars,
the unending ones where thought feels like weightless glass.
You see my shadows before I even do 
and you stay.
Still.
Unflinching in a world that always fades.

They say love should lift you,
that it should be warmth and refuge.
But you…
you are more like an antique painting
left in the rain, colors bleeding into the dark 
beautiful, tragic, unforgettable.

And even though I know you shouldn’t be the place I rest,
even though I know that loving you tears at what’s left of me,
I can’t stop thinking of you.

Cause you’re the only thing that never leaves 
even when all my voices fall silent.