And suddenly it’s 3 a.m.
and I find myself on my bed, alone,
with tears running down my face.
I’m staring at my phone,
waiting to get that “I miss you” text—
but I know that will never be the case.

How am I supposed to move on?
How am I supposed to pretend
like nothing is wrong?
It feels like my whole world
has shattered and slipped
quietly out the back door of my chest.

Memories echo louder at night—
your laughter still lives
in the corners of this room,
like a ghost that refuses to fade.
Every unread message on my screen
is a reminder that silence can be louder
than any goodbye.

I trace the outline of your absence
in the dark,
fingers clutching at shadows,
hoping for a miracle
that won’t come.
The moonlight feels cruel,
spilling across my empty pillow
like a truth I’m not ready to hold.

But somewhere between sobs and sunrise,
I whisper to myself:
the ache is proof I once loved deeply,
and even broken hearts keep beating.
One day, these tears will become rivers
that carry me forward—
far from the place where I waited,
far from the text that never came.
And maybe, just maybe,
that’s where I’ll learn to belong again.