To this day, I've never written about you,
Not a line, not a word, not a clue.
Where to start? What to say?
Our story was brief,
but you've haunted me for such a long time

We had our own language, you and I,
A secret script that no one else could decode.
Now, in every face, in every laugh, I search for a sign of you—
the sardonic smirk, the biting wit, the maddening charm.
But reality barges in, loud and crude,
Like an unwelcome knock in the dead of night.

And so I find myself stuck,
Trapped in a past that's now idealized,
Romanticizing the moments that left me empty.
Like that night, tears streaming down on my birthday,
Because you got me, you really did.
But you got her too, didn't you?

Or that time when I said I trusted you,
And you shut me up before I spilled my guts,
Warned me my words would be my undoing.
You were right, and I hated that you were.

Restless spirits—the ‘what ifs’—linger.
You, a poltergeist in my veins,
I must summon an exorcist to banish these regrets.
Like when we slow-danced, just us, and I mattered.
Not like the ones who came after, who never quite fit.

I wonder what might have been,
If you had stayed.
But you've got a life now,a wife and a kid
so I must move on, too,
After all, that's expected.