I woke up this morning,
and the first thing i did was
reach for my phone
half-expecting your message to be there.
I knew, deep down,
that it wouldn't be.
That it never would.
And yet…
my heart held on to the tiniest hope anyway.
There's a strange kind of ache
in waiting for something you know isn't coming.
It's not anger,
not exactly sadness
it's a quiet, heavy longing,
a soft tug at the corners of your heart that refuses to let go.
I find myself replaying our conversations, your voice, your laughter,
the little moments that once
made mornings feel lighter.
I don't know
why i keep doing this to myself
waking up and hoping,
even when i know it's impossible.
Maybe it's because letting go
feels harder than holding on
even if that hold is only in memory,
only in what could have been.
Even in this silence,
I want you to know…
you've left traces of yourself
in the spaces i didn't expect.
And maybe that's enough for now,
even if it's not enough for me.