There was a time
my name lived softly on your lips.
Not forced.
Not borrowed.
Not forgotten halfway through a sentence.
It stayed
like it had a home.
Like I had a home.
But time…
Time is not loud.
It doesn’t argue.
It doesn’t warn you.
It just… removes things
until you notice
you’re standing alone.
First, it took your eyes
the way they held me
like I was something rare.
Then your hands
how they found mine
like instinct.
Then your silence
it used to feel full.
Now it echoes.
Now it reminds me
of everything
that left without saying goodbye.
And all that remains…
are footprints.
Faded.
Fragile.
Disappearing under a wind
that doesn’t care
what we used to be.
I tried to follow them once.
Back to us.
Back to something that made sense.
But every step forward
felt like betrayal
because deep down
I knew
I wasn’t chasing you…
I was chasing
who you used to be.
And maybe worse
who I used to be
when loving you
felt safe.
Funny thing about footprints
They prove someone was there…
but they never promise
they stayed for a reason.
So I stopped.
Stopped chasing.
Stopped reaching.
Stopped lying to myself
that love should feel like loss
dressed up as loyalty.
Now I stand still.
Not broken
just aware.
Watching what’s left of us
sink quietly into the earth…
And for the first time
I understand something dangerous:
Not every love story
is meant to be kept.
Some are meant to end
softly…
without closure…
without answers…
just a trail of fading footprints
and a version of you
that had to die
so you could finally
let go.