Hollow

I wish you’d told me

before you disappeared

into white walls and pills

that steal the colour from your voice.

you call it healing—

but I’ve seen how

it hollows you out

until you forget

the taste of joy

and the sound of your own laughter.

you say it’s safer this way.

I say

I miss the storm in your eyes.

I love you,

but I can’t

watch you vanish

again.

this isn’t you,

not really—

a stranger in your skin

sleepwalking through our memories

without knowing we made them.

and the cruellest part?

you didn’t say goodbye.

you didn’t ask

if I was ready

to lose you

this way.