Maybe someday, or next week, I’ll finally forget you.

Because today,
I still love you.

Maybe it’s not even you anymore,
but the version of you
I kept safe in my head.

Maybe that’s why the feeling still stays
like they haven't heard the news.

Because I keep thinking.
Maybe you were just as lost,
and just as hurt.

That maybe the only reason we bled
was because we didn’t know how else
to hold our pain.

And so the words we said
only sounded like weapons.

I keep thinking
that someday,
you’ll find answers
you haven’t yet found the words for.

And I once wondered:
is it love when we believe in it,
or is it love when we accept what it never was?

I still don’t know.

But I do know this:
I still check in on you.
Still care about things you won’t share.
Still wonder about how your heart is doing today.

So maybe not now.
Because now,
you still live somewhere in me.
Even when you’ve long been gone.

And maybe not yet.
Because there are things I still want to write.
Yours, I still want to hold space for.
And this one thing I still want to say:
I still love you today.

So maybe next week.
Or next month.
Or tomorrow at noon.

I’ll learn how to let you go.