I’m sorry
for the malfunction
For the way my system chooses blackout to keep the lights on.
You’ve seen the ash-version of me.
Everyone prefers the museum-white.
I love you in the way policies love compliance:
without ceremony, underlined once, filed where hands don’t reach.
If I had to describe you perfectly,
I’d use the word I don’t believe in and mark it “redacted.”
My boy,
not a boy.
A constant.
Life keeps auditing the structure.
I fall like loose screws.
You keep standing like load-bearing.
I wish for the impossible the way trains wish for extra track.
If this route ends here, fine.
Leave a transfer slip at the edge of the map.
I’ll meet you next timetable.
Future with you
can't be imagined
present with you
is happiness
Don't forget about past
that you were mine
Don't forget about the future
that I will always pray for your happiness
A future with you doesn’t render; the present does.
Clean, minimal, enough.
Happiness arrives stamped “temporary use,”
but the warmth fits my hands like it was measured.
Don’t forget the archive that says we were once the same room.
Don’t forget the unsigned plan where your name keeps reappearing.
And if memory asks for proof, give it this:
I stayed in place so you’d have a fixed point to navigate by.
If anyone asks, it’s just weather.
Privately: it’s a storm that learned my schedule.
Public-facing: I’m fine.
Backend: I’m praying you stay unbroken.
And if we can’t share this life,
I’ll wait at the next checkpoint,
quiet as a green light,
pretending it isn’t for me
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