Do you still love me—
not the memory,
but the me who held your hand
like it meant something?

Do you still hear my name
and feel that pause
in your chest?

Because I do.
Even now.
I still feel you
in moments
you probably forgot.

So tell me—
am I still somewhere
in you?
Or have I become
someone
you had to let go?

I didn’t mean to.
But somehow,
you became the first thought
in the morning,
the name my hands reached for
in silence.

You weren’t just someone—
you became the feeling
I couldn’t shake.

Now even in your absence,
I find myself
holding on
to what was never promised
to stay.

I surprise myself sometimes—
how I get through the day
with a smile
that feels nothing like me.

They ask,
“Why are you always smiling?”

I wonder that too.

Maybe it’s easier
than explaining the mess
underneath.

Maybe pretending
feels safer
than being seen.

But when the noise fades,
when it’s just me and the dark,
the truth catches up.

And I fall apart,
quietly,
like always.

A question that’s been cutting through me lately—
“What changed you?”

What changed me?
I’ve walked through hell
just to keep breathing
for people who never once
looked back to see if I made it.

I gave everything
to feel like something,
only to realize
I mean nothing.

And still—
they ask me why I’ve changed.

What changed me
was being let down
by every soul I trusted.
Being the extra body in the room,
never the reason someone stayed.

Invisible.
Unheard.
Unwanted.

My words float in silence.
My actions vanish in plain sight.
And yet, they ask—
“What changed you?”

The nights did.
The ones I spent choking on tears
with no one to come home to.
No arms. No voice.
No one wondering if I made it through.

What changed me
was learning that pain doesn’t echo
when no one cares to hear it.

That numbness comes
when you scream silently
for so long,
you forget
what sound feels like.

They ask me—
“When did you change?”

I changed the day
hope became something others
took from me—
like I didn’t deserve it.
I changed
when people rested peacefully
while I wept
over promises that never meant to stay.

Or maybe—
maybe I changed
when I realized
my leaving
wouldn’t shake anyone’s world
but mine.

You are all fire—
fast words, loud thoughts,
feeling everything all at once.

You love like a storm,
break things just to see what survives.
You move
without thinking,
but always mean it.

I’m the stillness you crash into.
The quiet breath between your noise.
I take my time.
I watch.
I speak softly
but feel deeply.

You say I don’t show enough.
I think you show too much.
And yet—
somehow, we meet in the middle.

I calm your chaos.
You shake my stillness.
We don’t match—
but we fit.

I got used to you—
your name lighting up my phone,
your voice softening the weight of days.

You became a habit
I never meant to form,
a part of me I didn’t know
how to survive without.

And then—
you left.
No goodbye. No reason. Just gone.

Now I speak to the silence
like it’s you.
I check my phone
like it’s still ours.
And I break—
a little more each day,
because loving you daily
ruined me suddenly.

I still love you—
after every time you vanished
like silence between storms,
after every wound you named gentle,
every promise that wilted
before it touched the air.

Tell me,
how does a heart
keep bleeding
and still
call it love?