Simran Kaur

Sometimes love learns to survive
in silence and distance.

A small poetry series begins tomorrow.
The Geography of Missing You.

The full moon is not bright...
It is remembered light,
returned without bitterness.

It has a known disappearance,
has thinned itself into silence,
has dissolved into the dark
without protest.

Yet tonight it stands whole...
not because the sky was kind,
But because it survived
its own vanishing.

It does not beg the night
to understand it.
It does not rush
to prove it is complete.

Its fullness
is not noise...
It is endurance.

And even as tides rise
aching toward it,
The moon remains distant,
untouched,
entire.

I don’t rush to fill the quiet anymore.
I let it sit with me.
Some evenings, it doesn’t ask for answers—
just my breath,
just me being here.

I used to be scared of empty rooms.
I thought they only carried loss.
Now they feel gentler,
like open hands
that don’t need explanations.

There are parts of me still healing,
still learning how to stay.
But I don’t walk away from myself now.
I wait.
Patiently.
Until I’m ready.

Pitter-patter, the rainfall sings,
Lights shimmer where the puddle clings.
I miss the warmth of your embrace,
This quiet ache, no time can chase.

The leaves reborn, my spirit too,
Alive, refreshed, yet longing for you.
These rains ignite a restless dive,
You are the pulse that keeps me alive.

It brightens the world,
guides the lost,
warms the cold,
and slowly fades into dusk.

But it also burns.
It scorches, blinds,
and devours in silence.

It gives life.
It can take it too.