Unfinished

"Leave him, forget him," that’s what they said. But is it really that easy? "You never touched. You never kissed. You never felt his warmth." But is love only measured in skin and whispers? Can’t it live in stolen words, in shared silences, in the way his name still echoes in my ribs? They promise, "It’ll fade. You won’t see him. You’ll forget." But what if I don’t want to? What if I want to carry this love like a scar, a wound that never fully heals? What if I deserve this mark, his mark of love? He always wished for my love to be unbound, without chains, without limits; begged for my love to be like his- ethereal, never ending, never exhausting And now that he’s gone, I finally feel it- love, unbound. Love with no hands to hold, no lips to meet, no ending to bring closure. They call it an early ending. But tell me- what’s the point of endings, when the memories refuse to leave? When his absence feels louder than his presence ever did? When I close my eyes, and he’s still there- unfinished.