The Night We Didn't Mean to Remember

Some nights pass without leaving a mark.
Others stay-etched into the body, the heart, the spaces between words never said.

They didn't plan to remember that night.
It wasn't meant to be important. Just another shared silence, another almost, another moment they would pretend didn't matter when morning came.

But memories are cruel like that.

A glance held too long.
A hand that didn't pull away.
A confession swallowed by fear and timing.

By daylight, they go back to being who they were-careful, distant, pretending nothing has shifted. Yet the night lingers in everything: in unfinished sentences, in sleepless hours, in the ache of wanting something they're afraid to name.

Because once you almost love someone-
you don't forget.

And some nights, no matter how hard you try, refuse to stay buried.