2026

I Didn’t Die

You told me
what love felt like—
and what it feels like
to lose it.

You showed me
everything I thought I wanted—
and everything

I woke up thinking about you.

Again.

I prayed for it to stop—
sat in church
asking for peace,
for quiet,
for just one moment

Maybe you’re right—
maybe my scars do define me.

The one on my hand—
a quiet reminder
that I learned how to create something beautiful

I didn’t reach for you today
even when your name
rested quietly
on my lips

even when the silence
felt louder
than it should

You hold pieces of me now—
not because you reached for them,
not because you asked—
but because I never learned
how to love in

they say
love doesn’t beg
doesn’t split itself in half
and call it enough

doesn’t bleed quietly
while someone else
wipes their hands clean

love

Today feels heavier.
Not because anything changed,
but because everything inside of me is remembering.

I remember how it started,
how it felt to be

I woke up wanting you
before I was even fully awake—

like my body hadn’t been told
we don’t do that anymore.

I almost asked

I didn’t plan to miss you today—
it just happened
somewhere between a song
and the road I can’t avoid.

One minute
I was okay