In the quiet hours after midnight,
I trace your shadow on the wall,
a fleeting shape that never stays.
Your laughter echoes from afar,
like rain on someone else's roof,
while I stand dry and forgotten.
I plant words like seeds in letters
never sent, hoping they'd bloom
into something you might notice.
But your eyes skim past my horizon,
chasing suns I can't provide.
Still, I linger in this half-light,
whispering names to empty air,
knowing love's a one-way street
paved with echoes of what could be.