You tell yourself you’ve moved on,
but I see it in your eyes.
You walk into strangers’ rooms,
looking for something of hers,
and you come out empty,
losing pieces of yourself
with every step you take.
You lie to your skin,
tell it she’s gone,
but your body knows the truth
it remembers the way her name felt
in your mouth,
how her hands fit into yours.
You’re hiding,
running from something you don’t want to face.
Go back to her.
It’s not too late.
Stop pretending you’re okay.
The truth is, you’re still standing at the door
you promised you’d leave behind.
Go back.
