They say your first love never truly leaves.
Maybe that's because it becomes a ghost—
not the kind that haunts your nightmares,
but the kind that lives quietly
between your ribs and your memories.
You were the first person
to make my heart believe in forever,
and the first to teach it
that forever can still come to an end.
I have loved since you,
but no love has ever carried
the same innocence,
the same reckless certainty
that the world began and ended
with the sound of your name.
Sometimes I wonder
if you ever think of me
when the night is too quiet,
or if I've become nothing more
than a chapter you once read
and chose not to revisit.
But I still carry pieces of us—
in songs I cannot listen to,
in places I cannot return to,
and in the version of myself
that existed only when you loved me.
They say your first love never truly leaves.
I think they're right.
Because even after all this time,
the saddest part isn't that I lost you—
is still in love with the person
I was when I had you.