It’s that time of year again – when I wear your name like second skin. I blocked you twice, unblocked at three – guess backslide season’s calling me. I light a match then miss the flame – you’re not the same, but I play the same game. I swore I’d heal, but not today. I let your ghost rewrite my name. It’s backslide season – midnight calls, half-meant reasons. Tried to grow, but here I bleed in every “maybe” left between us. It’s backslide season – I still dream us. I see your post, pretend I don’t. Scroll too fast where I should’ve grown. I still wear that song you sent – like perfume from a past event. I say I’m fine then check your sign – I lie in rhythm, line by line. You’re in my “no,” you’re in my “wait.” I love the ache but blame the fate. It’s backslide season – when fall gets close I fall for reasons. Text unsent, but mind’s still reading all the lines you left still bleeding. It’s backslide season – I still need it. Don’t reply. Don’t even care. Just want you in the cold night air. It’s backslide season – one more slip, one more feeling. Healed too fast, now scars are speaking. You're not mine – but I’m still seeking. It’s backslide season – and I’m not leaving.
