A Language Without You
written by: Daniel Naawenkangua Abukuri
“The wound is the place where the Light enters you.”
— Rumi
Love
is a voyage is a storm in disguise is a letter never sent is the map you drew from memory and trusted anyway is a key with no door is an altar made of old voicemails is the hunger after kissing someone who says “I’m not ready” is salt on the tongue and wine in the wound is the mirage that fed you when there was nothing left is what you gave away to be chosen is the ritual of shrinking is the perfume that still owns your coat is an odyssey in circles is calling their name into the sea and pretending the echo is an answer is the soft bruise of their toothbrush still in your drawer is praying to forget but building a shrine out of socks and receipts is the silence you spoon at night is screaming into the pillow because even your tears betray you by remembering their taste is walking barefoot over memory like it’s gravel and gold is wanting them to return and never wanting to see them again is the spell that didn’t break when they left is reading your texts like scripture, like fossil, like confession is becoming fluent in “I’m fine” is the alchemy of turning grief into routine into habit into poetry into silence is knowing they didn’t die but mourning anyway is the bitterness of closure given too late is surviving the collapse and still folding their laundry in your mind is forgiving them in pieces because wholeness is a lie is forgetting the sound of their laugh and remembering the shape of their apology is learning that love isn’t possession isn’t rescue isn’t immortality is how you become the ghost and the haunting is how you return to yourself with nothing but your name and the ashes of what you once called home.
- A Language Without You - June 27, 2025
