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
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