Cavern Shaped Like You

A poem about love’s lingering absence, where the heart struggles to release what it can no longer hold.

In my heart there’s a cavern…
yawning and bare,
burned at the edges
preventing it from closing.

It’s in the shape of you.
But, you no longer fit.
My heart is inflamed:
Missing you…
Hurt.
Lost.

Every beat of my thickened heart
creaks in my ears:
I love you.
I miss you.
Come home.
Go home.

But there is no home to run to…
It’s still on fire
from the match I lit
as I tossed it behind me
driving down the road.

Oh, cavern in my heart
please seal and close.
The air rushing past
with every jagged beat
is too cold.

You told me
that’d it’d be easy for me
to let you go.
Why isn’t it easy?
What made you think it would be?

I feel so weak.
Losing blood
fast.
Color drains
from my thin skin.

Can you die
of a broken heart?
Is this how it feels
to decay?
Or is this
how it feels
to be born?

Have you ever tried to let someone go and found it far more painful—or complicated—than you expected? What did that experience feel like for you?