Words You Never Got to Hear

Since I don’t think we’ll speak again,

not like before, not like then,

I wish you well—

but more than that,

I wish I never had to.

I have so much of you in my heart,

yet somehow, it's hollow too.

You left, but you linger,

a ghost of laughter, a shadow of warmth,

memories etched in the spaces between my ribs.

Maybe in another life,

you would have stayed.

Maybe we’d gather the pieces,

build what we lost,

soften the sharp edges of what we became.

I love you.

I miss you—

terribly, achingly, endlessly.

Every second of the day,

every long, merciless night.

I hate it. I hate it so much.

I try to love you less,

try to remind myself of the hurt.

But pain dulls in the light of joy,

and all I see are the moments

where we were whole.

Are you happy?

I want you to be—

more than anything.

But more than that,

I wish I had been the one to make you so.

I had dreams for us,

so many dreams,

but I never knew I was the only one dreaming.

I'm sorry my love felt heavy,

that it closed in like walls instead of wings.

I never meant to suffocate you,

I only loved you

the way I knew how.

You loved me in your own way too,

just not in the way I needed.

Our little family never was.

You never met my parents,

they never got to know the man

who made me believe in love.

And now, I sit in the chair you built,

feeling the weight of you,

of us, of what will never be—

And all I wish

is to fall out of love

with the man I still love.