It's the small routines that bruise the hardest,
a message left unsent,
a joke half-formed with no one to send it to.
Not tragic. Just unfinished.
There's a certain way the day folds now,
like it skips a line only I notice.
Coffee tastes fine.
Mornings still happen.
But something feels like it forgot to arrive.
Names don't come up anymore,
but there's a pause where they used to.
Like the world's moved on
and my memory's still catching the bus.
I scroll less.
Talk less.
React slower.
Not because I'm sad,
just because fewer things feel like mine to respond to.
It's not about wanting anyone back.
It's not even about love.
It's about remembering what it felt like
to matter in someone's day
without trying.
And yeah,
maybe that was once,
or maybe I imagined most of it.
Either way,
I miss everything
that used to feel
a little bit like home.
