I look back at our photo — two smiles caught mid-laughter, too real to fake, even with life weighing heavy on us.
Back then, we didn’t have much, but we had that — something solid, unspoken.
Now, our smiles in pictures feel like strangers wearing our faces.

And though a part of me wants to stay angry,
there’s still a small corner of my heart
that waits for you to say something — anything — that sounds like the old us.

People keep asking, like they expect me to have all the words.
But why is it only me who has to say what happened? Why not you?
Do you ever stop and wonder
how much it hurts —
not just losing what we were,
but never really knowing why?