I was meant to disappear, but somehow that never happened. So I stayed exactly where you left me and learned how to look the same. I kept everything in place like nothing really changed at all. Even when you stopped mid-sentence, I acted like I didn’t notice it. I still tell myself that I hope you’re doing fine without me. But every time I say it, it feels a little less like the truth. You don’t say anything about it, and I don’t say anything either. Still, it never really ends between us. For a moment, we had everything, and it felt like it would stay. Now we pass each other by and pretend it meant nothing anyway. We speak just enough to keep it calm and easy on the surface. But it never really disappears, no matter how we word it. Now you’re standing close enough that I can still notice every change. And I can see exactly what shifted after everything we were. I remember how you pause before you say too much out loud. It’s like you almost let it happen, then decide to turn away. You talk about it like it was small and never meant that much. But I remember how you held me like you weren’t going anywhere. I hate that I still want you even knowing what it does to me. It feels like something stayed inside me and never really left. You don’t have to touch me, and you don’t have to come close. I still feel it every time you are anywhere near me. For a moment, we had everything, and it felt like it would stay. Now we pass each other by and pretend it meant nothing anyway. We speak just enough to keep it calm and easy on the surface. But it never really disappears, no matter how we word it. Now you’re standing close enough that I can still notice every change. And I can see exactly what shifted after everything we were. Sometimes I think you notice it, but you choose to let it go. Like if you never turn toward it, then it won’t become real again. But I can see it when you hesitate, even if you don’t explain it. There’s still something in the way you react that hasn’t gone away. And I wonder if you feel it when I’m standing close to you. That quiet kind of pressure that doesn’t leave no matter what you do. For a moment, we had everything, and it felt like it would stay. Now we act like it was nothing just to make it easier that way. You built a life that looks complete from the outside looking in. But I can tell that something in it never settled properly. Now you’re standing close enough that I can still notice every change. And I know you never fully got away from what we were. I almost called you again just to see what you would do. Just to hear if something changes in the way you answer me. Just to check if you still hesitate before you say anything. You don’t have to explain it, and you don’t have to admit it. I can tell by the way you breathe that it never went away. And somehow that is enough for me.
