You said forever like it was a place,
a home we’d build in the quiet corners of time.
I believed you—
not because the word was flawless,
but because it came from your trembling lips,
and I thought trembling meant truth.

We planted our dreams in soft soil,
watered them with late-night talks
and promises that felt too big to break.
But seasons change
and even the strongest hands
can let go when the wind turns cold.

Now forever sits between us,
not as a promise—
but as a ghost.
It visits when the night is still,
when I remember the sound of your voice
and the way my name felt safe in it.

I don’t hate you for leaving,
and I don’t regret believing.
Some loves aren’t meant to last—
but they’re meant to carve their initials
deep into the heart that held them.

And if I ever hear forever again,
I’ll still think of you—
and the place we almost built.