Yearning

Poetry by Crescent

I yearn to never yearn again—

To quiet the ache

That follows the ghost of every almost I’ve ever held.

To unlearn the language of reaching;

To fold my hands without wanting,

Without shaping the sky into silhouettes of what could have been.

But even stillness craves for possibilities.

Even silence hums with the illusion of memories...

And I— I am stitched together from all the things I dared to dream about but could not keep.

There is no remedy for abstinence.

There is no poison enough to conclude.

Only the slow, silver unraveling—

The way light spills through filigree,

The way longing lingers in a room

You turned back and looked at for one last time.

And maybe that’s the unrelenting truth of me—

To yearn for until I wish I hadn’t.