Not yet

Moving is no joke.

You fill the days—

work, walks, music—

but when night comes,

you are alone with your thoughts,

and they ask all the wrong questions.

You tell yourself time will pass,

that soon, this place

will feel like home.

But a part of you knows:

you will always long for what you left.

Your heart pulls, tugs, pleads—

go back.

But you can't.

Not yet.

And don't even get me started

on the weight of distance,

how love stretches thin

across screens and silence.

You count the days,

the hours,

until you can hold them,

until their warmth reminds you

what it feels like to be whole.

FaceTime isn't enough.

Texts aren't enough.

And when the call ends,

your chest caves in,

your heart breaks all over again.

If I could teleport,

if I could take the next flight out,

I would—

without hesitation,

without a second thought.

But I can't.

Not yet.

So I sit in this silence,

with no one around,

letting the loneliness

swallow me whole.