took me 99 days to fall for you,
maybe a thousand to move on.

You said you’d come back,
but three springs have passed,
and I’ve only known absence.

My friends tell me to forget you,
to read books,
listen to songs,
go places where I can finally breathe.

But every book reminds me of how you used to write.
No song feels the same as your voice.
Even the skies seem quieter since you left.

They told me to burn the poems I wrote for you,
erase the portraits,
let go of the memories.
But how do I erase a name
that’s already carved into me?

Your last letter said,
*”It was just obsession. If it was love, we’d find our way.”*
But tell me—
does obsession last this long?
Because it’s been 581 days,
and I’m still counting.

And now, when I’ve learned to live without you,
you say you want to come back.

But I’ve carried your absence for so long,
I no longer know how to make space for you.
I loved you more than words could hold,
but all you gave me was distance, confusion, and an ache I never asked for.

And now, even with all the love I still carry for you—
I don’t want you back.