A Story That Never Even Began

A Story That Never Even Began

I wrote your name in smoke,

then watched it drift away.

No hello, no start,

just silence that chose to stay.

I dreamed of pages turning,

but the book stayed tightly shut.

No first word,

just echoes

and a door that never shut.

You haunted like a promise,

but gave nothing in return.

A flame that never flickered,

yet somehow made me burn.

I waited in the quiet,

for something that never came,

a never-ending story

that never had a name.

Then one night I stopped waiting,

let the silence fill the space.

No ghosts, no scripts,

just the truth I had to face.

I buried the unwritten,

let the ashes stain my hands.

Even stories that don’t begin

still leave their demands.

So I wrote my own ending,

inked in scars and steady breath,

a story born from nothing,

yet louder than your death.