𝙄 𝘿𝙞𝙙𝙣'𝙩 𝙒𝙧𝙞𝙩𝙚 𝙏𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙔𝙤𝙪 𝙩𝙤 𝙁𝙞𝙣𝙙 𝙈𝙚
my side of the silence
I didn't mean to pen these pages
for you to find.
Not after ten years
of silence and dust.
But still-
you found them.
Stumbled into my softness
as if it were still yours
to hold.
I wonder what line did it.
Which hush
gave me away.
Was it the way I spoke
of mornings that never ended?
The way I remembered you
without saying your name?
You were the quiet
I came back to.
Even when I shouldn't have.
Even when the silence
had teeth.
I made peace
with your absence.
Wrapped it in poetry,
pressed it between pages
like dried flowers
I no longer needed to touch
to remember.
So if you read this now-
if your hands tremble
where mine once fit-
know this:
These words
weren't meant
to bring you back.
They were meant
to bring me home.
And maybe,
just maybe,
that's what love becomes
when it doesn't get the ending:
Not bitterness,
but bloom.
Not waiting,
but release.
You were a chapter.
A beautiful one.
But I became the book.
And this-
this was always
the version
where I save myself.
YOU ARE READING
In Every Version of Every World
PoetryA soft anthology of alternate endings and love that lingers. Quiet poems, what-if reflections, and tender scenes from other lives - where love comes back, or maybe never left at all. For the ones who still wonder what could've been.
