Some days ache more than others. Today felt like a bruise I couldn’t stop pressing.

I kept thinking about the way he used to pull me close, like he knew exactly where I belonged, until he didn’t. The quiet moments echo louder now, and the space where he used to be feels like a wound that never clots. I don’t want him back, not in the way people mean. I don’t want the confusion, the pulling away, the second guessing of my worth. But there’s still a flicker, a memory that makes me crave the comfort of how his touch made me feel wanted, just long enough to feel real.

This was like chasing smoke, never meant to be held, only felt. It’s about what felt real in between the silence and the slipping away. The kind of physical gravity that doesn’t ask for forever but still makes you feel like you matter; at least for a moment. But in reality, I only really wanted him in my bed, but never in my future.

And maybe that’s the part that hurts the most. That I was never asking for everything. Just a little more than nothing.

He couldn’t give me that.

And yet I still sit here, in the echo of what we were, wanting the warmth of something that was never built to last.

Maybe this is what growth looks like: wanting him, but not chasing him. Missing him, but not breaking for him. Craving him, but choosing me.

Every. Single. Time.