You Don’t Remember, and I Can

You don’t remember— the way our silence spoke, how even the air trembled between our hearts. I can’t forget— the weight of your absence, how it sits in my chest like something sacred and broken. You can’t laugh— and I can’t cry. We’ve both run out of ways to feel alive. Our love was too fragile for time, too deep for forgiveness. You drifted toward peace, I stayed where the ache begins. Now, in the quiet hours, your name still breathes through me— a ghost without a voice, a memory without mercy. You don’t remember, and I can’t forget. That is how we remain— beautiful, and unfinished.