I’d write you a thousand times if it meant you’d feel even a flicker of how this silence is screaming, of how I'm still waiting in the echoes of your last goodbye. You don’t love me anymore, and that truth is a knife I keep swallowing, like maybe if I take it deep enough, it won’t cut as much tomorrow. I miss you in the quiet hours— when the world forgets me too. When the sky is too cold and I sleep on the couch, just in case you come back. I wish you'd text me: "Hey. Let’s set rules, let's make it work, I miss you too." But wishes are liars and ghosts wear your name. You were the version of me I liked the most. Now I wander like a half-finished sentence, tripping over memories that still taste like you. What do I do with this love now? The kind that lingers, uninvited, undeniable. Because I still love you. And it still hurts. - @winx57