i didn't sleep that night.
the sun rose,
and it felt wrong—
too gentle
for a world that just fell apart.
your voice still echoed
between the walls,
soft and cruel in the same breath.
"i'm getting married."
as if love had an expiration date,
and mine just reached it.
the coffee went cold on my desk.
the cigarette burned too long.
and the playlist we used to share
kept looping a song
that used to mean something.
i almost texted you.
almost said,
"don't."
but i didn't.
because love isn't supposed to beg.
not anymore.
i opened my laptop—
the old one you once laughed at—
and saw the file you named for me.
a poem.
half-finished.
half-hers.
it ended with a line that said,
"maybe in another life,
we'll get it right."
i think you knew.
i think you always knew.
outside,
the city was waking up.
inside,
i was learning how to let go
without saying goodbye.