A letter never sent

They call you my ex— like you were just another chapter, just another name to forget. But how do I forget the girl who made forever feel real? You weren’t my past. You were my present, my always. The one I whispered dreams to at 2 AM, the one I laughed with until my ribs ached and my guard fell. They say time heals. But time can’t touch the parts of me that you etched your name into. It doesn’t erase your voice from the corners of my mind, or your touch from the quiet spaces of my heart. I still carry you— not like baggage, but like a scar I’m proud of, because it means I once loved deeply, and maybe, was loved too. So no— you’re not my ex. You’re the one I still write about in the silence, the one I reread like a story that never got its final page. And maybe… just maybe… some stories are meant to find their ending in the second draft. Yours, Always, Me