Can’t sleep past 3am.

I know it was for the best, but I feel hollowed out. I can’t send this to you, but I wrote this during those sleepless hours. I suppose it’s part of healing…

Between the Lines

We weren’t supposed to find each other— not here, not now, not with lives already carved in stone.

But conversation unraveled the silence: banter into confession, confession into fire.

You saw me whole, and I saw the life I might have lived.

⸻

I wanted to— rewrite everything.

You were my almost… my never… my too-late.

⸻

So I chose silence. I chose children. I chose the life already written.

⸻

And still—

some nights I dream the other story, where duty doesn’t bind, where choices are ours alone.

I wake with your ghost beside me— not regret, but the unending ache of a love that lived between the lines.