Does he lie awake some nights,
staring at the ceiling,
tracing the ghosts of my fingertips
on skin that no longer knows my touch?
Does he wonder if he should have held back,
if loving me was selfish,
if eighteen was too young to carry
the weight of a love he couldn't fully give?
Does he wish he'd turned away instead of leaning in,
if he should have let me stay untouched,
unshaped by hands that gave and took,
that held me close but never quite enough?
Does he think of the girl who gave him everything—
who loved past his limits,
who filled the spaces he left empty,
who broke and bled just to keep them full?
Or does he push it all away,
tell himself I was just young,
that love was never meant to last,
that some things are better left in the past?
And if he does remember—
if my name ever lingers on his lips
in the quiet of an empty room—
does he regret that we ever happened,
or just that he let me go?
—MistakenGenius
YOU ARE READING
Surviving Heartbreak
PoesíaA lover girl who got her heart broken one too many times and now ended up writing poetry about it
