I still see you.
Not in the ways that matter . Not in the street, not in passing faces, not even in the places I imagined you’d be. But I see you when I sleep, and it’s almost cruel how clear you are there. Like my mind remembers every detail my heart has been trying to forget.
You’re always leaving.
That’s how it goes every time. I’m running after you, or you’re slipping through a door, or you’re turning away just before I can say whatever it is I need to say. Sometimes you don’t even look back. Sometimes you do, and that’s worse.
I wake up breathless, with my hands curled into fists, fingers aching like they were trying to hold onto something too fragile to keep. You, maybe. Us. Whatever version of us still lives somewhere between consciousness and whatever cruel space dreams come from.
It’s pathetic, I know. To miss someone this much. To still be haunted by a ghost who isn’t even dead. But what do you do when your mind refuses to let go? When your dreams are just reruns of everything you’ve already lost?
I wish I could say it doesn’t hurt anymore. That I’ve moved on, or healed, or found some poetic meaning in all of this. But the truth is, every time I see you in my dreams, I lose you all over again.
And I’m so fucking tired of losing you.
But maybe that’s the only part of you I get to keep.
The leaving.
