Beneath a sky we once dared to call home,
I stand like Harry Potter without a wand
a boy stripped of magic,
learning that love does not always conquer fate.
You were a spell I whispered without doubt,
a soft Lumos in the corridors of my dark,
but now you feel more like Obliviate
erasing yourself while taking pieces of me with you.
My heart once stood like Hogwarts
alive with wonder, secrets breathing through its halls,
but since you left,
It echoes like a castle that forgot how to glow.
I tried to summon you back
like casting a Patronus against the cold,
yet only mist slipped from my hands
too fragile to guard me from memory.
You felt like home,
but I was only ever a passing wizard
who mistook an open door
for something that would stay.
There are fragments of me still trapped,
like a soul hidden in a Horcrux
holding onto you in places unseen,
aching in ways I cannot reach.
I wander through a Diagon Alley of memories,
finding us in every fractured window,
learning that not everything magical
is meant to remain.
Time becomes the truest professor,
never kind, only honest,
teaching that loss is a lesson
etched into growing up.
Maybe I will never be whole again,
but I can learn new spells
not to bring you back,
but to finally let you go.
I once believed we were written
like ink in an unbreakable vow,
but even sacred promises can unravel
when silence becomes the louder magic.
Your absence is a Dementor lingering,
feeding on the warmth I used to carry,
turning laughter into echoes
that tremble before they fully exist.
I searched for you in mirrors,
like the Mirror of Erised whispering illusions,
showing me a life that breathes only in longing
beautiful, unreachable, untrue.
I held onto us like a Time-Turner,
desperate to rewind every misstep,
but time refuses to bend for grief,
it only marches forward without apology.
Even the stars feel like broken wands now,
flickering without purpose,
as if the universe itself forgot
the spell that once aligned us.
I walked through storms like the Forbidden Forest,
where every thought grows teeth,
and shadows speak in your voice
calling me back to a place that no longer exists.
But somewhere between the ruins,
I felt something shift
a quiet magic, unfamiliar,
yet steady enough to hold.
Perhaps healing is not a grand spell,
not thunder or light splitting the sky,
but a whisper, soft as breath
reminding me I am still here.
So I gather what remains of me,
like a wizard rebuilding from ashes,
learning that even broken wands
can still choose where to point.
And one day,
when your name no longer echoes like a curse,
I will walk forward unenchanted
yet more alive than I have ever been.
Why is it always me?
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