What’s Left of Me

"There was no me before you," they said, But there was a me, but wild and untamed, A me who lounged and slept all day. Who walked through storms knowing not the way. Then came you— That me blurred and bent; Was reshaped, given a new name and soul And every breath with you was a testament. And now you are gone, yet again I wake, Not the same, not lost, but different still; The me that loved, that broke, that learned to kneel, Carries new edges only you can make.