you won’t respond, and that’s the point.
i don’t know why i’m doing this.
maybe to hold myself accountable for the way i still spiral when your name comes up in my head,
or maybe because if i don’t speak this somewhere,
it rots deeper.
and i’m tired of smelling the inside of a grief no one else recognizes as real.
there’s nothing poetic here.
i’m not writing this for catharsis.
i’m writing it because rage lives in my throat now,
and i want to scream without having to hear myself echo back.
you said things to me that you never had to say.
you made me believe we were building something—
not a fantasy, but a structure.
something i was supposed to trust enough to invest in.
but you were already pulling pieces from the bottom
before i even knew what floor we were on.
and when it collapsed, you walked away like the rubble wasn’t yours too.
i hate that i still wake up some mornings
with your voice in my teeth
and my body aching from dreams i can’t fully remember
but always know you were in.
i hate how you turned your absence into a performance piece—
blocking, deleting, vanishing like i’m some infected part of your timeline
you needed to cut off for your “healing.”
congrats.
you erased me like a glitch.
but my body still remembers.
i see you in the mundane.
in the sound of a screen door.
in the smell of cinnamon or fucking almond milk.
in the way i instinctively brace myself for disappointment
when someone shows interest in me,
because they might walk too.
i hate the part of me that still worries about you.
still.
like some sick reflex that didn’t die with the rest of what we were.
god didn’t laugh at me.
he ignored me.
left me asking for a sign
while you rearranged the narrative to make me the problem.
you treated me like a chapter you regretted writing.
you got to leave.
i stayed behind to edit the wreckage.
the worst part?
you could’ve been brutal with me,
and i still would’ve handed you what was left.
not out of weakness, but loyalty.
and that loyalty was weaponized.
one day i’ll have a life again.
not this half-living limbo i’ve been pacing through since you left.
i’ll have someone beside me, maybe.
and still, some part of me will be calculating the risk of them vanishing
the way you did—
without warning, without ceremony,
just gone.
and i’ll wonder:
did you ever give a fuck?
or was all of it disposable the second it got inconvenient?
this isn’t about closure.
it’s about clarity.
i need you to know—
you damaged something that was trying to heal.
you made me distrust my ability to love without losing myself.
you taught me that being unforgettable means nothing to someone already rehearsing their exit.
we’re strangers now.
fine.
but you will not be a ghost.
not in my life.
not in my blood.
i am purging this.
you don’t get to linger.
no reply necessary.
none would mean anything anyway.
∆Remember Us∆ 