You and me.
There is no us.
We haven’t existed for moments,
maybe frustrated weeks,
maybe tired months.
And yet,
everything that was only ours recalls us.
everyday things stubbornly remember
the deeper meanings
as if what passed had no expiration date.
So many places miss us:
cafés, songs, shopping trips,
the games we used to share.
Is this the centrifugal force
of love that’s run its course?
Or
only nostalgia
for lost habits,
the seductive charm
of rituals
no longer ours.
Dec 10, 2025
Dec 10, 2025 at 2:41 PM UTC
You and me.
There is no us.
We haven’t existed for moments,
maybe frustrated weeks,
maybe tired months.
And yet,
everything that was only ours recalls us.
everyday things stubbornly remember
the deeper meanings
as if what passed had no expiration date.
So many places miss us:
cafés, songs, shopping trips,
the games we used to share.
Is this the centrifugal force
of love that’s run its course?
Or
only nostalgia
for lost habits,
the seductive charm
of rituals
no longer ours.
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