Two cups once warmed by the same trembling hands,
now sit on opposite sides of the table,
cold in different ways.
We did not break like thunder.
No shattered glass,
no cruel words sharp enough to leave scars.
We faded;
quietly,
like a song forgotten midway through winter.
I still remember
how your laughter used to find me
in crowded rooms,
how your eyes carried entire sunsets
without trying.
Back then,
forever felt small compared to us.
But love, sometimes,
is not lost in hatred.
Sometimes it drowns
beneath silence,
missed calls,
unfinished conversations,
and the exhaustion of trying
to hold two drifting hearts together.
Now your absence
lives in ordinary things;
the empty chair by the window,
the untouched side of the bed,
the way evenings arrive too early.
I wonder if you still pause
when hearing our favorite song.
If your hands still reach
for someone who is no longer there.
If missing me
hurts you too.
We loved each other deeply.
That is what makes goodbye
so unbearably gentle.
And though I let you go,
a part of me still waits
in the soft ruins of our memories,
where your name continues
to bloom like an ache
I cannot teach my heart to forget.
