that didn’t ask for anything grand
just your voice
finding mine
in the quiet of midnight.
I miss how love
used to feel urgent to you
how a poem
was enough reason
to turn the engine on
and drive through darkness
just to reach me.
No plans,
no perfect timing,
no “maybe tomorrow.”
Just you
showing up
like I mattered.
We were simple then
a parked car,
soft laughter,
greasy fingers from fast food,
and hearts so full
we thought
we had all the time in the world.
You used to look at me
like I was home.
Now,
I sit in the same silence
but it feels different
heavier,
colder.
You move through your days
without touching mine,
while I stay
somewhere between memory
and hope.
And I wonder
when did love
stop reaching for me?
When did I become
someone you could go a whole day without?
I don’t need the long drives anymore,
I don’t need the midnight rush
I just need to feel
that I still exist
in your world
the way you still exist
in mine.
Because I’m still here,
holding onto us
like it hasn’t already slipped away.
And maybe that’s what scares me most
not that we changed,
but that I’m the only one
who still feels it.
