I think what hurts the most is how quietly you stopped loving me.
No slammed doors, no grand endings.. just a gradual dimming,
like someone turning down the lights one click at a time
until I was sitting in the dark, still believing the room was bright.
I kept talking, hoping you’d hear me, hoping you’d turn back and say you were just tired, just overwhelmed—anything but done.
But you mastered the art of saying nothing with a tenderness that made it feel like my fault for wanting more.
You used to look at me like you were learning a new language.
Then one day your eyes changed, and suddenly, I was the stranger
you had already translated, understood, and grown bored of.
Maybe the bitter truth is you didn’t leave suddenly,
I just noticed late.
You grew out of us while I was still praying we were just having a hard week.
And now we’re two people who used to promise things; big things, forever things—
That’s the strange part:
We loved each other so loudly, and somehow ended in a silence no one knows how to break.