thecursedhorcrux

Unsent letters. Unspoken prayers.

[thecursedhorcrux]

Scent

There are things I remember without trying like the scent of her hair.

Not perfume. Not anything bottled or named. Just her. Wild, warm, like sunlit sheets and quiet mornings.

It hit me softly, like a whisper against my skin, and suddenly, the world narrowed to nothing but her breath, her neck, the way her hair fell across my chest like something sacred.

I was intoxicated not drunk, but dizzy in the most beautiful way. Like every inhale was a confession I couldn’t stop making.

Even now, I swear I smell it in the wind sometimes. Like she’s near. Like the memory of her refuses to fade politely.

And God if I could bottle it, if I could breathe it forever, I’d give up the world. Just to lose myself again in something so simple, so hers, so ruinous.

[thecursedhorcrux]

August Was My Fault

It ended in May. But if I’m honest, it started ending long before that.

You said it was over like you were setting something down that had already been too heavy.

And I stood there pretending I didn’t know I had helped break it.

I was too much. Too emotional. Too intense. Too quick to turn everything into proof that you didn’t love me enough.

You asked for space. I called it distance. You asked for calm. I gave you storms.

And by August, you didn’t even have to say goodbye. You just stopped talking.

And maybe you were tired. Tired of explaining. Tired of defending yourself against my insecurities.

I replay our conversations and hear it now the tone in your voice when you started protecting yourself from me.

You were the best thing that happened to me. And I turned it into something that needed constant fixing.

I made love feel like work.

You didn’t leave suddenly. You retreated slowly. And I watched you go while convincing myself I was the victim.

But maybe I wasn’t.

Maybe I pushed. Maybe I doubted. Maybe I asked for reassurance so many times it stopped sounding like love and started sounding like fear.

By August, you weren’t cold. You were done.

And I was still sending messages like a man knocking on a door he had already set on fire.

Now it’s quiet. And there’s no one left to blame but the version of me who didn’t know how to love without needing to be saved.

You stopped talking. But I started losing you long before May.

I love you. And maybe that wasn’t enough.

Maybe I wasn’t either.

[thecursedhorcrux]

End of May, August Silence

At the end of May you said it was over.

Not loud. Not cruel. Just steady.

Like you had already been leaving for weeks.

And I stood there still holding the version of us that you had already folded away.

By August, you stopped talking.

Not officially. Just less. Then less than that. Then nothing.

I keep replaying it wondering which sentence was the last real one.

You went forward. I stayed at the gate.

You in your new life, your new routines, your new people. Me staring at my phone like silence might change its mind.

I told you the truth once. Maybe too honestly. Maybe too late. And you didn’t like it. And I don’t know if that was the moment or if the moment had already passed.

You were the best thing and the worst thing that happened to me.

Because loving you felt like flying. And losing you felt like learning gravity.

I know I wasn’t perfect. I know I pushed. I know I made it about me when I should’ve just listened.

I laugh when I’m breaking. It’s a bad habit. You knew that.

Sometimes I drive down roads we used to take and I almost expect to see you in the passenger seat, complaining about my music.

But it’s just me now. And the horn I never press. And the things I never say.

I don’t hate you. I don’t even blame you.

I just wish the end of May hadn’t stretched all the way into August.

I love you. I’m sorry.

And I’m still here learning how life goes without you in it.

[thecursedhorcrux]

I Can Hear It

I can hear it in your voice.

That quiet distance between your words. That softness that isn’t softness anymore.

You’re letting go slowly, carefully, like you don’t want to make noise while you leave.

Are you turning off your phone because you’re busy… or because you don’t want to hear me anymore?

Your feelings feel cold now. Not angry. Not loud. Just cold.

And that’s worse.

Because I would rather fight you than lose you to indifference.

Why are we breaking apart without even trying? When did you decide it wasn’t worth saving?

You don’t want to try anymore. And I’m still here trying for both of us.

Tell me why you still live in my mind like nothing changed. Why every silence still echoes your name.

You said you looked past my love. But I came with open arms. No games. No walls. Just everything I had.

For you.

And now I’m standing here arms still open, but you’ve already walked away.

[thecursedhorcrux]

I’m Still Here

From far away I look at you like a starving man looking through glass.

You don’t see me. Or maybe you do and you choose not to.

Tell me what I have to become so I can stand in front of you again without feeling small. Tell me what to fix, what to break, what to tear out of myself so I can be enough.

Because right now I am just distance. Just silence. Just the boy who loved too loudly.

They say love shouldn’t beg. But what do they know about watching the person who feels like fate slip further away every day?

If I saw you again, I don’t know what I’d say. You speak in poetry. I speak in trembling.

Would you look at me and wonder how I ever thought I deserved you?

You feel untouchable. Like something written in the stars. And I am just flesh aching, human, still reaching.

My heart is lost in the streets of loving you. It keeps turning corners hoping you’ll be there.

Let me come close. Just once. Let me stand near you without this wall of air that feels heavier than stone.

I am tired of pretending I can survive this distance.

From far away I still look at you.

And I would cross every mile, every ego, every last piece of pride

just to hear you say come closer.

[thecursedhorcrux]

Where Do I Go Without You?

How do I show you that the light inside me has gone quiet?

The joy that once bloomed at the sound of your name now sits folded in the dark.

I tried to dress the world in color, but I am scattered in your memories living inside moments that refuse to leave.

Tell me where do I go now? Every road feels hidden, every path erased without your hand in mine.

I told you once I saw you in my dreams before I ever knew how deeply you would live in my days.

Now even the mornings don’t rise properly. The sun comes up, but you don’t.

You are in my heart. In my mind. In the quiet corners of my breath. And when you’re not near, my soul trembles like it’s searching for its own body.

Stay close. Don’t go yet. You feel like fate like something written before I was ready to read it.

I would gather every star you ever wished for, place them gently in your hands. I would never let fear touch you. Never let distance steal you.

You are my longing. My unfinished wish. The melody I keep humming even when the music has stopped.

People tell me to move on to untangle myself from you. But how do I explain that this was never shallow? That what we had was not paper love not temporary ink but something carved in the ribs of my being?

I don’t ask the world anymore. I only ask you why does my heart still beat like you are coming back?

Every day, I choose you again. Even in your absence. Even in your silence.

And if you ever wonder where I stand

I am still here. Still wanting you. Still turning every road back toward your door.

[thecursedhorcrux]

ghosts of you

sometimes i swear you’re still here.

in the shape of shadows on my wall, in the way the wind moves through my curtains like it’s carrying your laugh.

i make tea for two, forget, and pour the second cup down the sink.

the house creaks at night, and i pretend it’s you coming home, instead of the echo of someone who never will.

[thecursedhorcrux]

unanswered

i hope you never feel what it’s like to text someone with your whole heart and watch them type, stop, type again, stop again, until the screen goes silent and you realize the conversation you’ve been holding onto has only been happening inside you.

[thecursedhorcrux]

Uneven Pages

I told her everything. The way my coffee had too much sugar that morning. How a song on the radio made me cry. The dreams that scared me. The thoughts I’d never said out loud to anyone but her.

I handed her my days, bit by bit, like folded notes passed in class each one marked read me, please.

And she? She smiled. She listened. She nodded. But her pages stayed blank.

She never told me much. The names in her stories were always vague. The places she went, the people she saw all veiled in silence, like secrets she never thought I earned.

I mistook mystery for softness. I thought maybe she was just shy. Maybe I’d open her up with time, the way rain opens petals.

But days passed. And still, she stayed closed.

I told her how I felt when I heard her laugh. She never told me who made her smile that day. I told her when I was lonely. She never said if she missed me back.

I was writing a novel in her name, while she scribbled a footnote in mine.

And maybe the truth is: I wasn’t talking to a wall I was talking to someone who never planned to speak back.

Still, I kept on. Like a fool who thought love meant telling her everything while never noticing how little she gave in return.

[thecursedhorcrux]

The Friend She Promised to Be

She said, Let’s be friends. And I, fool that I am, believed her. Believed that what we had could soften, not vanish could shift into something gentle honest true.

I sent messages into silence. I called, knowing she saw, knowing she wouldn’t pick up. She left my words on read not unread, just unacknowledged. And somehow that hurt worse.

Let’s be friends, she said. But she didn’t ask about my day. She didn’t show up when I needed someone or even when I didn’t. She gave one-word replies to questions I used to hear whole stories in.

I tried to make it easy. I tried to meet her where she left me. But how do you hold onto someone who doesn’t even pretend to hold back?

She asked for a friendship and then ghosted the part where she had to be a friend.

And maybe that’s when I knew she didn’t want to stay. She just didn’t want to feel like the one who left.

But she did. And now, so do I.

[thecursedhorcrux]

Back to Me

I gave so much of me to someone who never asked me to stay. And in that silence, I forgot the sound of my own voice.

I used to count the minutes between their replies, map my joy to their presence, my worth to their warmth. But no more.

Now, I wake and choose myself. Not out of pride, but out of necessity. Because I’ve seen what it costs to pour into someone who left their hands closed.

I’m learning to make peace with empty rooms, quiet phones, plans I keep alone. Because in the stillness, I can finally hear my own heart beat— and it sounds like survival.

This season is for me. For rebuilding what I abandoned, for loving what I once criticized, for choosing mirrors over memories.

It’s not selfish. It’s sacred. It’s coming home to the one person who never truly left me.

[thecursedhorcrux]

What Let Go of Me

I held on long after your hands let go gripping memories like lifelines, as if I could resurrect what had already slipped through the cracks.

You moved on in words you didn’t say, in replies that never came, in all the ways love turned into silence.

And still, I stayed. Built a home in hope, watered the past like it could bloom again.

But one day, I looked around and realized I was the only one still standing in that story.

And maybe that’s when it hit me you let go long before I ever thought to.

So now, I let go too. Not out of anger, not even out of pain. But out of mercy for the parts of me still waiting at a door that would never open.

Because peace begins where begging ends. And healing begins the moment you stop chasing what already chose to leave.

Let go of what let go of you not because you stopped caring, but because you finally started caring for yourself.

[thecursedhorcrux]

Letting Go

It didn’t happen all at once. Letting go never does. It was in the way I stopped rereading old messages, in the way I no longer searched for your face in every crowd.

It was in the silence I stopped trying to fill. In the tears I let fall without needing you to notice.

I used to think letting go meant forgetting that I’d have to erase every trace of you just to breathe again.

But no. Letting go meant remembering without aching. It meant holding the good things gently and setting them down without resentment.

You were a chapter beautiful, flawed, full of color and contradiction. But not the whole book.

So I turned the page. Not because I wanted to. Because I had to.

And somewhere in the quiet that followed, I heard my own voice again. And it was softer, but stronger. Lonely, but free.

And that, I think, is what letting go really means.

[thecursedhorcrux]

The Day I Chose Me

I used to wait for your name to light up my screen like it meant I was still worth something. I used to rehearse my replies, gentle, careful, hoping you'd notice that I never stopped loving you. Even when you gave less, I gave more. Even when your silence grew louder, I whispered my heart into the empty spaces.

But tonight I stopped.

Not because I stopped caring. But because I started remembering how it feels to be whole without waiting for someone to piece me together.

I still ache. I still miss. I still scroll back to our memories like they owe me closure.

But I am walking away now not in anger, not in bitterness but in love. Love for myself.

I won’t beg to be chosen in a place I was never seen. I won’t shrink anymore to fit into your maybe.

I am not the absence you left. I am the presence I reclaimed. And this this is the day I chose me. And let you go.

[thecursedhorcrux]

Every Kiss Was a Universe

There was poetry in the shape of her mouth, in the curve of a smile that made my world quieter.

Her lips soft as dusk, sweet as something you only taste once but remember forever.

The first time I kissed her, the earth didn’t shake but I did. Hands trembling, heart loud in my throat, like it knew this was holy ground.

She tasted of whispered secrets, of mornings that came gently, of something too good to be real for long. And I kissed her not just like a man in love but like a man who knew he’d been found after a long, lonely search.

When her lips met mine, it wasn't passion alone it was prayer, it was peace, it was everything I didn’t know I was aching for.

Some nights, I still feel the ghost of her there, as if my mouth remembers what the heart won’t let go. And I wonder does she think of it too? The way we spoke in silence, the way her breath became mine, how the world always disappeared just long enough for me to believe we might make it.

And maybe we didn’t. But there’s something about the way she kissed that still makes me believe in forever.

[thecursedhorcrux]

Kiss

There was music in her lips, not the kind you hear but the kind you feel like a hymn on trembling skin.

I remember how time slowed when mine met hers not a kiss, but a surrender, a soft, urgent confession we spoke without words.

Each kiss was a story told in heartbeats, a warmth I drank like rain after drought.

And in those moments, there was no world, no fear just the gravity of her mouth on mine, pulling me closer to everything I ever wanted.

[thecursedhorcrux]

Universe

She moves like a whisper in a world that never stops shouting a silhouette so delicate, yet she carries storms in silence.

Her body, petite as a falling leaf, seemed made to be held but never owned. She could fold into me like she belonged there a missing piece I didn’t know I’d lost.

There was something sacred in the way she fit under my chin, how her fingers barely reached but still managed to hold all of me.

She walked lightly but her presence pressed heavy on my heart. And in that tiny frame, I swear, was more warmth, more wonder, than most would ever notice.

People speak of stars as massive burning things but her… she was a flame that taught me how to see in the dark.