I used to ache when I heard your name,
a whisper that sparked something inside.
I waited for messages that never came.
Hope stayed outside, left out in the cold.
I wrote poems about you, honest and quiet,
on pages you never saw or cared for.
I held conversations inside my head,
while you forgot everything I said.
I traced our memories like scars,
mapped dreams that broke apart.
Healing came slowly,
in long nights and brighter mornings.
Now, when someone plays our song,
I don’t flinch or feel pain.
I’m no longer stuck in what might have been.
I’ve closed the door and locked it behind me.
The tears dried up, silence grew.
I found strength without you.
I see myself more clearly now,
not as your shadow, but as my own light.
I smile again—not out of anger,
but because peace finally found me.
You were a chapter in my story,
a lesson, not a lifetime.
So here’s to me, not to who you were.
Rising clear from all the confusion.
I loved. I lost. I learned. I’m moving on.
I’m not just healing—I’m over him.
