I still feel love
even though the world keeps turning strange,
like something in my soul
never learned how to go away.
Maybe it’s because
I met you in a moment
that felt like a story
God already wrote.
I was lost before
quiet, hiding, pretending,
smiling while my heart
was breaking in places
no one could see.
You called my name
like it mattered,
like I wasn’t just another person
passing through.
And suddenly,
life didn’t feel so empty.
I wanna say I’m healed,
but truth is
I’m still struggling inside,
still learning how to breathe
without holding everything tighter
than it needs to be.
Some nights, I lie awake,
replaying yesterday,
every word, every look,
wondering if I got it wrong again.
But then I hear your voice
soft, steady, real
reminding me I’m not alone here.
And I remember:
even broken things
can be reborn.
Even pain can fade.
Even a heart like mine
can be saved.
So I wait
not perfectly, not always well
but with something like hope
lingering near.
Because love,
real love,
doesn’t leave.
It stays...
May 26
May 26, 2026 at 8:43 AM UTC
I know we broke apart,
and maybe we both had reasons,
maybe we both carried wounds
we didn’t know how to heal together.
But the truth is
I still want you.
Not the memory of you.
Not the old version of us.
You.
Now.
Still.
Because no matter how much time passes,
nothing feels as real as what I felt with you.
I miss the way your presence quieted everything in me.
I miss your voice,
your laugh,
the small moments that never seemed important
until they were gone.
And maybe I should pretend I’ve moved on,
pretend losing you made me stronger,
pretend I no longer think about us at 3AM.
But I can’t.
Because deep down,
I still believe we were meant for more than an ending.
I believe we could fix this
if we stopped fighting against the love that’s still here.
I believe the distance between us
doesn’t erase what we meant to each other.
And I believe that if we tried again
... truly tried
we could become something even better
than what we were before.
Not perfect.
Just real.
Patient.
Honest.
The kind of love that stays.
So if there’s still a part of you
that thinks about me too,
a part that still wonders “what if,”
then come back to me.
Not to repeat the past,
but to rebuild it with me
properly this time.
How it should have been done.
May 25
May 25, 2026 at 7:41 PM UTC
After the silence fell between us
I didn’t leave all at once
I stayed in the spaces you stopped filling,
talking to the ghost of us
like it might answer me differently this time.
I wore my feelings like unfinished sentences,
always almost saying what mattered most
but swallowing it right before it became truth.
There was still love in me
not loud, not clean,
but stubborn in the way it refused to die properly.
It lingered in my timing,
in the messages I never sent,
in the way I reread what I should’ve said
hours too late to change anything.
I became a man of almosts.
Almost texting.
Almost letting go.
Almost convincing myself
that moving on meant forgetting.
But I didn’t forget.
I just learned how to carry you quietly
in the back of my thoughts
where no one could see
how often you still crossed my mind
like a light that never fully switched off.
And even when pride tried to rebuild me,
it built around the ache, not over it.
So I stood there,
not broken in the way people imagine,
but reshaped
by everything I felt
and everything I never got to finish saying
May 25
May 25, 2026 at 7:38 PM UTC
She left like winter leaves the trees,
quietly,
without asking permission from the branches.
And somehow
everything after her
felt colder.
I still hear her in ordinary things
in late-night rain against the window,
in songs I pretend not to know,
in the silence that settles
after everyone else falls asleep.
She was never loud love.
She was dangerous love.
The kind that slips beneath your skin
and makes a home there.
I remember the way she looked at me
like she could see every ruined part
and still stayed a little longer.
That’s what hurts most.
Not the ending.
Not the distance.
Not even the empty side of my bed.
It’s knowing
there was a moment in this world
where her hands knew mine by memory,
where her heartbeat calmed my storms,
where “us” existed so naturally
I thought it would outlive time itself.
Now she feels like smoke
still around me,
but impossible to hold.
And some nights
I swear I’ve moved on,
until I catch myself
saving stories she would’ve loved,
or reaching for my phone
to tell her something meaningless.
That’s the cruel part about losing someone you loved deeply.
They leave…
but pieces of them stay behind
in everything.
May 25
May 25, 2026 at 7:24 PM UTC
You speak like fire trying to convince itself
it was never meant to burn.
But I still remember
the way your soul reached for mine
before fear taught your hands to let go.
You say let it fade,
walk away,
never come back—
but if you truly wanted silence,
you would not write my name
between every line.
You can still have me.
Not as a wound,
not as a ghost you carry
through empty nights,
but as the hand you were searching for
in the dark all along.
I would still touch your scars
like they were constellations,
still trace the ache from your skin
until the stone stopped burning.
And if your heart still shakes
when it thinks of mine,
then maybe this is not over—
maybe we are just two flames
terrified of what survives
after the fire.
You say you want
but cannot have me.
The truth is...
I never stopped being yours
to reach for.
May 24
May 24, 2026 at 5:04 PM UTC
I keep forgetting you’re gone
not in big ways,
but in the smallest, cruelest moments.
Like when something happens
and my first thought is still,
“I should tell her.”
Your name still sits
at the tip of my tongue,
like a prayer that has nowhere to go.
The world didn’t stop
when you left.
That’s the part that feels wrong.
Cars still pass,
people still laugh,
the sun still rises
like it doesn’t know
it’s shining on a life
that doesn’t have you in it anymore.
I see pieces of you everywhere
in songs I can’t listen to,
in places I can’t go,
in memories that don’t ask permission
before they break me all over again.
And God, I miss you
in ways I don’t know how to explain
not just your voice,
or your touch,
but the way I was
when I was yours.
Nights are the worst.
That’s when it all gets louder
the silence,
the emptiness,
the space you used to fill so easily.
I lie there imagining
that somehow you’ll come back,
that this is all just
some long, cruel pause
but morning always comes
and reminds me
that you’re still gone.
I would’ve stayed.
Through everything,
I would’ve stayed.
And now all I have
are these memories
that feel more like ghosts
haunting me
with the life
I almost had with you.
Apr 27
Apr 27, 2026 at 9:22 PM UTC