Words That Stayed with Me

It was my last night in the city.

One flight away from a new life.

But before I could leave,
I had to see the place
where I used to feel everything.

I went back.

Not to see her.
Not to talk.

Just to feel something
one last time.

I told my friend I needed a ride.

"I know where you're going," he said,
and didn't ask again.

We pulled up to her street.

It hadn't changed.
But I had.

I lit a cigarette.

But I didn't smoke.

I stared.

At the windows that once lit up when I called.

At the building that used to feel like a home
built from small moments.

I waited.

For a shadow.
A silhouette.
A flicker of her.

But she never came.

She didn't know I was there.

She didn't know it was goodbye.

She didn't know I still carry her in my chest
like something fragile.

I wanted to scream her name.
I wanted to tell her I miss her.
I wanted to tell her I still love her.

But I didn't.

Because she was happy.

And her peace
mattered more than my pain.

My friend stayed quiet,
let me have that moment.

I think he saw the tears
before I did.

He didn't ask.

He just said,
"Let's go."

So I nodded,
and turned away
from a place I once called almost-home.

She didn't know I came.

And she'll never know
I left
with her name still burning in my chest.