4am Emails to a Lover Lost

Cityscape silhouette sunset
This ‘poem’ is in fact, an email I sent to my ex-boyfriend. I don’t write poetry, but splitting it into a quasi poetic form seemed like a good idea at the time of posting, and I like the rippled pattern it assumes. And yes, I suppose there is a yearning–a spiritless hope that he comes across it, but meanwhile, if this resonates with somebody else/helps another express their anguish and heartbreak, it will have been worth it to bare a little corner of my soul. 

4am Emails to a Lover Lost

Writing to you,

it’s a futile exercise.

My words floating through

a forsaken abounding abyss,

my voice shunned

from every avenue

– I knew you

as a builder of bridges

but the walls you’ve erected to keep me away

are solid, impenetrable

– you’re a man of juxtaposing dexterity.

Yet, here I am

past 4 in the morning,

flailing, grasping for comfort

in this hollow thwarted form of connection.

Willing you to reach into your memories

of us

and find something–anything

that might redeem me in your eyes

in some way–any way

though I know not my crime.

The desire to understand


a search abandoned

all reason, lost.

It matters little anymore that you don’t

love me

that you’ve no intention of sharing

any part

of your life

with me,

but my God,

it twists me up inside

it crushes my heart

knowing you believe

I would want to hurt you

that I would consider hurting


let alone those whom you love.

I’ve tried

hating you,

purging my memories of you,

but my mind is a stubborn ally.

I don’t want

to be writing to you

at 4am.

I don’t want

to be thinking of you

every other hour

of every day,

I don’t want

to experience that sinking feeling

when another offers an inviting smile,

a desirous gaze,

a compliment,

and my heart tugs and tightens

its chains,

singing the mournful melody

of wanting

what I have lost.

I miss the laughter

in your eyes,

the way you would hug me:

sometimes so tight,

I’d fear my ribs would bruise,

but it didn’t matter

– your love

your compassion

seeped through

into my flesh

into my flawed bones,

healing my splintered soul.

I miss

how you’d spontaneously kiss

my palms,

sending a shiver

of hope

through my spine

into my blemished mind.

I miss

running my fingers

over your shoulders,

teasing your earlobes

with my tongue,

kissing your neck.

I even miss

you wrestling me to the ground

at 2am

tickling me until I’d succumb to dizziness and laughter.

I miss

you whispering

words of love and wisdom, in your silken Mesopotamian Arabic tongue

music to my ears and a balm

for my fragile spirit.

Most of all, I miss

the feeling of confidence

the strength

I enjoyed,


you had my back,

even when you were


out of reach.

You have the potential to



fragmented hearts

fallen prey to the most brutal darkness.

You are beautiful

in so many ways.

Unlike me,

you are,


–The Imposter Writer


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