Ha?

Like it finally learned how to hold us gently

I replay you, not in order, not in logic, but in the way the heart remembers.

Your laugh first, always your laugh, the kind that made everything feel possible.

Then your eyes, how they never needed words, to say stay.

I see us in small moments, the ones no one would write about, but meant everything.

Sitting beside each other, doing nothing. Yet feeling like the world paused, just to watch.

Your hand finding mine, like it already knew the way.

And I realize, love was never loud. It was you, being there.

Minute four, and I am no longer afraid.

Because if endings exist, so do beginnings, and you were mine.

Minute two. I almost reach out, like I can still touch you.

Like memory is enough, to bring you back.

Last seconds,

And if there is anything after this, I hope it feels like you.

soft warm certain

Because if this is goodbye,

They reach for you, But never when their hands are full.

They speak your name, But only in the quiet spaces. Between what they truly want.

You exist in the margins, In the pauses, In the almost.

Not the reason, Just the remainder.

When something brighter calls, You fade without a fight, Because you already know, You were never meant to be chosen first.

And still,

You stay.

Gathering crumbs like they are enough. Turning seconds into something that feels like love.

Until one day,

You no longer ask, Where you stand.

Because the answer, Has been clear all along.

You were never the priority.

The noise is gone now. No laughter, no music, no glasses clinking, just the faint ringing in your ears and the weight you tried to drown sitting right back where it was.

Your head aches, but it's not the worst part.

It is the clarity.

No more blur to hide behind.

No more warmth to soften the edges.

Just you, your thoughts, and everything you pushed away slowly walking back in like it never really left.

You check your phone, half hoping, half knowing.

Nothing new.

Nothing changed.

And somehow, that hurts more sober than it did drunk.

The room feels different now, too still, too honest.

Like it is watching you finally feel what you kept avoiding.

You sit there for a while, not moving much.

Not thinking clearly either.

Just feeling.

Because the truth about nights like that is,

they do not fix anything.

They just delay the moment

Hands on the wheel, the world slides by,

Endles road beneath the sky.

In motion I'm both lost and found,