You start with small things: A toothbrush in the wrong cup. A shared closet that somehow *still* leaves all your sweaters wrinkled.
By PrimeHorizon9 months ago in Poets
You’d planned it for months— the when, the where, the perfect words. But of course, life had other ideas.
You thought it would be awkward— two strangers fumbling with menus, trying too hard to be impressive. But then she laughed at your terrible joke,
You knew it when the rain caught you mid-street, and instead of running, you laughed— because suddenly, getting soaked
This time, it’s not a spark— but sunlight, slow and sure, filling the room before you even notice. No grand declarations,
We knew it from the start— this was a season, not a lifetime. A sun-drenched afternoon painted in gold and goodbyes.
We were never really anything— not a title, not a promise, not a forever. Just a late-night text that lingered too long.
I don’t miss you loudly. There are no sobbing nights, no empty bottles or love songs played on loop. But I do miss you—
You never really left all at once. You left in fragments— in coffee shops I can’t walk into, songs I skip halfway through,
You made the coffee. Every morning, before my alarm knew I was awake. Two sugars, a splash of cream, and a silence that felt like devotion.
You weren’t forever. But God, you were right now. You were the warm light in a cold year, the laugh in my throat after months of silence.
In another life, you came to me barefoot, early autumn in your eyes, and no urgency in your voice. You were not already promised to someone else.
