Still Yours — Without Meaning

You left — but no one told my thoughts, they still wander back to you at night, like rivers that forgot new beds, still flowing toward the old light. A song, a word, a certain sky — and suddenly you're everywhere, in coffee cups and quiet rooms, in the shape of afternoon air. I don't call. I don't reach out. But God — how I think of you. In the seconds before I sleep, it's always your face breaking through. Maybe love doesn't end cleanly — maybe it lingers like a perfume, long after the person has gone, still sweetening an empty room. I am not waiting. I am not lost. I am only someone who loved well — and some feelings, however soft, take longer than endings to dispel. So here you are — in my thoughts again, uninvited, achingly familiar. And I let you stay a moment more, before the morning makes things clearer.