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It feels like I’m back here again.

At the corner where I said I’d moved on,
my mind still makes room for him.

Maybe I’ve accepted that he left.
Maybe I’ve even stopped waiting.
But the ghost of him
still knows how to find me,
right when I think I’ve forgotten
the sound of his name in my chest.

Maybe it’s the wound still mid-healing.
The part of me trying to remember
how safe it once felt.
The kind of remembering
that ruins all the metaphors I built.
The one that said,
none of them stands a chance
against what we once were.

Maybe it’s the part of me
that doesn’t want to be wise,
or rational,
or healed.

Or maybe
it’s just the smallest,
most stubborn voice,
curled up in the dark.
The one still whispering his name
like it’s a secret,
it doesn’t want to give up.

A part that just wants to love him.

Maybe it’s a selfish voice.
Maybe it always was.

But whatever it is,
can you please get out of my head?

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