Still Reaching for Home

I still wake up reaching for you even though you've been gone for months now.

Same bed, same ceiling, but everything feels emptier. I replay the last

conversation we had, all the things I should've said but didn't.

You promised forever like it was easy, and I believed you without question. The worst part isn't

that you left, it's that you left slowly, piece by piece, until one day I

looked up and you were just gone. I'm learning how to smile again in public while falling

apart the second I'm alone. Everyone keeps saying time heals, but time just taught

me how to pretend I'm okay. I see you in strangers, hear you in songs I can't listen to