You won't hear this, but maybe somewhere in the quiet, you'll feel it. I try to forget you, not because you weren’t beautiful, but because remembering you hurts too much. Some days, I pretend your name is just another word— a sound the wind makes when it’s lonely. But even silence sounds like you. I walk away in my mind a thousand times, but my heart stays—barefoot, on the same cold floor where you left it. You were poetry, even when you didn't mean to be. And I was the reader, willing to bleed on every page. Tell me, did you ever look at me and feel the weight of forever? Or was I just a passing warmth on a night you forgot to wear your heart? I don't hate you. I wish I could. It would be easier than this gentle ache that calls your name without permission. I loved you like a secret, deep and quiet and full of fire. Now I unlove you the same way— slowly, painfully, and with all the courage I can find. If you ever think of me, just know I tried. I loved you in all the ways that love should have been enough. And even now, as I teach my heart to forget you, it still whispers: "If he ever comes back, don’t let him go again."