I still stalk about you
in rooms you’ve never been,
through digital shadows
and half-lit memories
where your voice once lived.
I trace your name
in the fog of mirrors,
click through photos
like rosary beads,
each one a tiny ache,
a litany of ifs.
I scroll until my fingers numb,
searching for the shape of you
in strangers’ reflections—
the curve of a laugh,
the outline of a jacket
you once wore into winter.
I know your new routines.
The ones that don’t include me.
The songs you’ve added,
the cities you’ve ghosted through.
Even your smiles feel rehearsed now
or maybe they always were.
I haunt the timelines
like a relic looking for worship.
Like maybe you’ll post a sign
that you remember me too.
But you never do.
Still, I stalk about you
in quiet hours
and reckless ones,
when my body forgets how to be alone
without whispering your name
into the dark like a warning.
There is no closure.
Just the endless echo
of someone who once looked back
but didn’t stop.
Apr 29, 2025
Apr 29, 2025 at 11:20 PM UTC
I still stalk about you
in rooms you’ve never been,
through digital shadows
and half-lit memories
where your voice once lived.
I trace your name
in the fog of mirrors,
click through photos
like rosary beads,
each one a tiny ache,
a litany of ifs.
I scroll until my fingers numb,
searching for the shape of you
in strangers’ reflections—
the curve of a laugh,
the outline of a jacket
you once wore into winter.
I know your new routines.
The ones that don’t include me.
The songs you’ve added,
the cities you’ve ghosted through.
Even your smiles feel rehearsed now
or maybe they always were.
I haunt the timelines
like a relic looking for worship.
Like maybe you’ll post a sign
that you remember me too.
But you never do.
Still, I stalk about you
in quiet hours
and reckless ones,
when my body forgets how to be alone
without whispering your name
into the dark like a warning.
There is no closure.
Just the endless echo
of someone who once looked back
but didn’t stop.
