i was a cracked hourglass, spilling time in grains of regret. you were a shadow stitched to my spine there, yet never mine. i kept you in the museum of my mind, behind glass walls of what-ifs and almosts. you left like smoke—intangible, but choking. i wrote your name in fog, hoping it’d stay. you were the door that never closed, the silence that hummed louder than sound. i watered dead flowers, thinking they’d bloom again. my heart became a locked attic—your laughter, the ghost that tiptoes. i didn’t lose you. i misread the map, and called it destiny.
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