1/14/26
I know I still love you.
Not as hope. Not as longing.
But as something lodged inside me that refuses to dissolve.
You’re gone, and the world expects that to mean over.
But love does not follow logic.
It stays where it was planted, even when the hands that planted it walk away.
I remember our first kiss
with a clarity that feels unfair.
How close you were.
How safe I felt standing on the edge of something
I thought was a going to last.
That kiss didn't promise me love
it promised me memory.
And memory has been far crueler than love ever was.
You kissed me like you had time.
I loved you
like I had none to spare.
Now I understand why some moments hurt more after they're gone.
They weren't meant to survive the truth.
I don't replay us because I want you back.
I replay us because my heart still doesn't believe you left without consequence.
I still love you.
Not loudly. Not proudly.
Just quietly enough to keep hurting without making a sound.
