The Girl Who Collected Goodbyes

She didn’t chase people.
She caught echoes.

When they left,
she listened
not to footsteps,
but to the spaces
they forgot to fill.

She saved their shadows.
She named their silence.

Not a hoarder,
not a poet
just a heart
that never learned
how to forget.

She kept
half-finished letters,
loose buttons,
untied shoes.

A coat on a hook
no one wore.
A smile
folded in a book.

She whispered to things
that once belonged,
and gave them
a place to stay.

Her room
glowed with
absent faces.

One night,
she lit every goodbye
and the house
didn’t feel empty anymore.

It felt full
of everything
she never got to keep.

One night,
she lit every goodbye
and the house
didn’t feel empty anymore.

It felt full
of everything
she never got to keep.

The whispers grew louder
like songs forgotten,
but never gone.

The light held stories
of love and loss,
of pain and hope,
woven tightly together.

And in that glow,
she finally understood
goodbyes aren’t endings,
but echoes
of hearts
that once beat
close to hers.

So she smiled
not because she was whole,
but because even broken things
can shine
when held with love.