Remnants

We used to say I love you like breathing—
without thinking, without fear.
Now the words taste different,
like something once sweet
but left too long in the rain.
You still smile, but not for me.

I used to know your silence,
now it’s louder than your voice.
You used to hold me like you meant it,
now your arms feel borrowed,
and I keep pretending not to notice
how far you’ve drifted while staying near.

We were a promise half-kept,
a fire that forgot how to burn.
You gave me warmth once,
then left me holding the ashes,
asking myself if love ends quietly
or simply forgets to begin again.

I still wait for you in small ways—
in messages that never come,
in memories that don’t fade fast enough.
I still love you, somehow,
even when every part of me knows
you’ve stopped trying to love me back.

And here I am, caught in between,
where love used to live and now just lingers.
We are not together, not apart—
just two hearts pretending not to break,
trying to remember
how it felt before everything changed.