I loved you in the stillness between conversations,

where silence was the only thing we ever shared equally.

 

You moved through rooms like sunlight on water,

too bright,

too far

to ever hold.

 

I kept my feelings folded small

in the corners of my chest,

tucked away like old letters

no one would read.

 

You talked about your dreams,

your late nights,

your someone else,

and I nodded,

as if each word wasn’t another tug pulling me apart.

 

I was there.

I always was.

And you never looked closely enough

to see what it cost me.

 

Some loves

don’t ask for return.

They just exist, quietly,

achingly,

until they don’t.