It started with fire,

laughter in the dark,

the rush of touch,

the thrill, the spark.

Now days just blur —

same kiss, same bed.

We talk, we laugh,

but I feel half-dead.

The sex is soft,

but never deep.

More habit now

than losing sleep.

You’re kind, you’re safe,

you give me all —

a steady hand

so I don’t fall.

But when I look at you,

I can’t define

if it’s love

or just a line.

And this —

this ache, this quiet plea —

you’ll never hear it

come from me.

My life’s not bad,

you give what’s due.

Just not the parts

that make me _you_.