Breakups don’t make sense to me. Am I just supposed to feel nothing now? To erase all the time we spent together, the memories etched into my mind, the quiet promises whispered in the dark? Am I meant to set it all on fire, pretending you don’t cross my thoughts with every breath I take? As if love is just a fleeting phase, something that vanishes as easily as it began. Am I supposed to suddenly hate you, to force down the feelings still rooted in my chest? Forget the warmth of your hand in mine, our fingers laced together against the chill of the world? What about the dreams we built, reshaping our futures to fit one another? Is “moving on” some sort of magic trick? Or is it a spell no one’s ever taught me, some dark art that hides the ache beneath tangled overgrowth? Do the feelings ever really die, or do they just lie buried, choked out by weeds where flowers once bloomed? The silence left in their place is deafening, and I can’t understand how hearts can simply unravel. How love, once so vivid, can close its eyes to everything it defined. How am I supposed to walk away when the echoes of what we had still call me back?
