As I think of you again,
my heart learns a familiar ache.
I read what you posted—
a quiet confession to the world:
you miss her.
I want to ask
if that her was ever me,
but some questions
only reopen closed doors.
You and I
are only memory now,
a chapter folded neatly away.
I know we're done—
no rewrites,
no hidden paths back.
And even if there were
something I could do,
I choose not to return.
It hurts,
but I will be over you.
In time,
you should too.
YOU ARE READING
Every part of me
PoesíaThis book took years to begin. Not because I lacked words, but because I lacked the courage to open my heart. To my readers- this is my soul, laid bare. Every page holds a piece of me: my vulnerability, my joy, the moments I loved deeply, and the gr...
