Jia Zhenia

I woke from a dream
where I was dying—
alone.

Alone,
as I searched your eyes
and found only coldness.

Alone,
as I called your name
and silence answered in your place.

Alone,
as I reached for your warmth
and touched nothing but air.

Alone,
as our laughter—once alive—
collapsed into a room full of echoes.

Alone,
as I stretched toward your love
and found a hollow,
a house without a soul.

—

I am not afraid of dying.

I am afraid
of living in a world
where I am unseen by you,
where something once connected
comes undone.

I am afraid
of boarding a long-distance train
without your gaze to hold me,
without your goodbye to anchor me
to something that was real.

I am afraid
you will forget me—
as if we never happened,
as if our shared existence
was only a passing dream
I imagined alone.

And most of all,
I am afraid
that at the end of the day,
when all things quiet—

I will still have to go,
still have to be,

without your love.