The Peninsula

The Fiction and Poetry Archive of Liana Mir and scribblemyname

Gasp (poem)


I gasp for air, a nameless cry
The tears that will not spring to eye
The groans unspoken, breaking free
I swallow them back down in me

Missing You


It’s past midnight. Yata can’t sleep. He tosses and turns on the pillow, rolls over, huffs a sigh, trying to ignore the empty space where Saruhiko used to sleep, trying to ignore the quietness in their little place.

Saruhiko has always been quiet, but somehow it never felt like this.

Yata clenches his fists and buries his face in the pillow, trying to ignore the hot, tight feeling in his chest. Saruhiko betrayed them (him), left them (him). He isn’t coming back.

The room is empty of anyone but Yata. There’s no one there to mock or watch him cry.