I want that feeling back—
the one you only get
when you’re truly loved
by someone who chose you.

Falling asleep
knowing I was theirs,
waking up with their name
still warm in my heart.

The feeling of being protected,
even in silence.
Of knowing that no matter what fell apart,
I had someone
who would never let go of me.

I miss what it felt like
to belong to someone.
To be held,
wanted,
understood—
in the way only a partner can do.

I don’t just miss love.
I miss being loved
like that.

You always left
when I needed you most.

On the days I was breaking,
barely holding myself together,
I searched for you—
desperately.

The silence hurt,
but not as much
as knowing I couldn’t reach for you.
Not anymore.

I’d shed a tear
and open my phone,
my fingers tracing their way
to our chat
like muscle memory,
like hope that forgot you were gone.

You were once my escape,
my soft place to land.

Now I cry in silence,
telling stories
you used to hear—
to no one.

I always wonder—
when I disappear from your life,
does it ache for you
the way it shatters me?

Because I tried—
to forget you,
to replace you,
to let you fade into memory.

But I keep seeing pieces of you
in people who aren’t you.
A laugh,
a look,
a way of speaking—
and I fall apart all over again.

I say I want someone like you,
but deep down,
I know—
there will never be someone
who loves me
the way you did.

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.