The heart doesn’t break like glass.
It folds.
Quietly,
like paper left out in the rain.

You don’t even notice at first.
Only that certain moments feel heavier.
Laughter leaves a strange echo.
And songs…
songs start to look you in the eye.

There was a time it fluttered.
Not out of fear—
but from the thrill of hearing your name
in a room you weren’t in.

The heart remembers things you forget on purpose.
Like the way your hand hovered near mine.
The space between us felt sacred.
I didn’t breathe.
Did you?

Even your silence felt like music.
I listened.
I still do.

And when you looked at me
—really looked—
it felt like a story was beginning
just by accident.

The heart took notes.
It scribbled your laugh into margins.
Wrote whole poems
out of how your eyes softened
when you spoke about something you loved.

Then it broke,
softly.
Not with noise,
but with remembering.

Because it still thinks
maybe.
Maybe again.
Maybe somehow.

It builds new hope from old ashes.
Still waiting
at the corner of every almost.
Still aching in the way
that only means one thing—
it mattered.

And I guess
that’s all the heart ever wanted—
to have mattered.


Erennwrites