Jul 14, 2025
still cry over her every single day.
Like clockwork grief, like muscle memory,
like a ghost that won’t stop knocking
no matter how many times I tell it to leave.
I see her in the folds of silence,
in songs she never meant to ruin,
in smiles I can’t hold for long
because they tremble under the weight of her name.
I hate that she still lives in me.
Not as warmth, not anymore..
but as a shadow behind every door I open,
as the ache I wake up with,
as the whisper that says, “You weren’t enough.”
I wish I could turn my heart to stone.
Crush the softness she once touched,
burn the memories like old letters,
reclaim the parts of me she broke.
But here I am.
Still bleeding out a love
she already forgot how to spell
