familiar, not forever

You leave me full of regret at the end of the night, when the silence is louder than your goodbye and the dark feels heavier than your hands ever did. I always find myself wondering why, why it felt like a bond carved in bone, a special kind of gravity pulling me back to you even when I swore I would walk away. I thought we had something rare, something stitched between ribs and breath, but maybe it was only me holding the thread, calling it fate. Because I was so in love, the kind that blooms reckless and bright, the kind that would have chosen you in every lifetime without asking for proof. I don’t want to wreck this all over again. I don’t want to be the storm that tears through what little is left. But I know, I could have loved you endlessly. You just didn’t let me. And maybe now I can’t anymore. I lose my mind over you, I always did. But lately it feels softer, duller, like a song I’ve heard too many times. Maybe it isn’t love that keeps pulling me back. Maybe it’s just familiarity, the comfort of your name on my tongue, the habit of missing you like muscle memory. And maybe that’s the saddest part of all: realizing the fire wasn’t dying, it was already gone.