always.

I think if your voice ever carried the words, “I missed you,” it would bring a kind of peace I’ve searched for in all the years you’ve been silent.

The part of me that loved you has never learned how to let you go.

Do I miss you, or do I miss the version of myself that only came alive in your eyes?

No matter how much time passes or where life takes me, my heart will always carry a piece of you. You are the love it never forgot, the one it still longs for, and the one it will always quietly choose.

I would trade anything for one last day tangled in your soul before the world tears us apart again, though maybe your heart already let go long ago.

Somewhere along the way, I confused being loved with being chased, and forgot love also asks us to stay and fight back.

Every time the weight of sadness crashes over me, my mind betrays me—returning to you, to the memory of your comfort, and the quiet ache of knowing I can’t reach for it anymore.

I find myself returning to you in quiet moments, tracing the memory of a love that once consumed me, until the absence of you feels louder than anything I have now.

Having known a love that devours you—wild, consuming, and steeped in desire—everything else feels dim in comparison. And to realize that such a love lives in only one soul, a soul that is neither yours to hold nor to return to… is a quiet kind of devastation.