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
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.
I miss you with every passing second of the day...