The girl who stands where I stood.
Though I haven’t seen you together with her, my mind sometimes conjures unwanted images. Sometimes still, sometimes in motion. Either way is a curse.
Does she stands where i stood now?
She walks where I once walked, breathes the air I once called mine. She presses her lips to the same corners of his smile, and I wonder—does she know?
Does she taste the salt of my sorrow when she kisses him goodnight?
Does she hear the echo of my name in the quiet spaces between their laughter?
Does she feel the ghost of me curled between their intertwined fingers?
She is untouched by the wreckage, unscathed by the history he sheds like old skin. She is new, weightless—and I, still carrying the burden of yesterday, envy her for it.
I do not curse her.
I do not rage.
I only ache—
quietly, endlessly,
like an unfinished sentence,
a song cut short before the crescendo.
