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4d
I still stalk about you—
in rooms you’ve never been,
through digital shadows
and half-lit memories
where your voice once lived.

I trace your name
in the fog of mirrors,
click through photos
like rosary beads,
each one a tiny ache,
a litany of ifs.

I scroll until my fingers numb,
searching for the shape of you
in strangers’ reflections—
the curve of a laugh,
the outline of a jacket
you once wore into winter.

I know your new routines.
The ones that don’t include me.
The songs you’ve added,
the cities you’ve ghosted through.
Even your smiles feel rehearsed now—
or maybe they always were.

I haunt the timelines
like a relic looking for worship.
Like maybe you’ll post a sign
that you remember me too.

But you never do.

Still, I stalk about you—
in quiet hours
and reckless ones,
when my body forgets how to be alone
without whispering your name
into the dark like a warning.

There is no closure.
Just the endless echo
of someone who once looked back
but didn’t stop.
Written by
Tawana  22/F/N/A
(22/F/N/A)   
21
 
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