Amelia James Poetry

Each memory of you is a stone in my pocket,
dragging me under before I can catch my breath.
They come without warning,
slipping through cracks in my mind,
stacking themselves higher
until I can’t stand beneath the weight.

Your voice lingers like an old song,
one I don’t mean to hum,
but the melody spills from my lips anyway.
Your name is a splinter beneath my skin—
too small to pull out,
too deep to ignore.

The tears come too easy,
like a well that never runs dry.
Like my body is fluent in grief,
trained to unravel at the thought of you.

I try to shake you off,
to empty my pockets,
to let time smooth the edges of what we were—
but the weight of us is still here,
pressing down,
holding me still.

-Amelia James