I did not lose you
in a single moment.
There was no slammed door,
no final argument—
nothing sharp enough
to explain the ending.
I lost you
by setting the phone down.
I stopped being the one
who remembered birthdays
without reminders,
who carried stories forward
so they wouldn’t disappear,
who asked questions
and waited through silence
for answers that never came.
When I stopped reaching,
nothing pressed back.
No friction.
No weight.
No sound.
That’s how I learned
how much of us
was being held
by my own hands.
Sometimes I see others
stay connected
without effort,
and I can’t understand
how it holds.
How it doesn’t loosen.
I keep looking
for the moment
we should have felt it—
the tug,
the strain,
the warning.
I don’t know
when we came undone.
I thought it would take more.
I thought we would fight harder
to stay.
I am older now.
The world is quieter,
and I notice the weight—
rooms standing empty,
nothing entering, nothing leaving.
Still, I am here,
not whole,
but careful.
Everyone says
it’s better to have loved and lost.
I am not so sure.
I carry what love taught me
in the way I hesitate now,
knowing how easily
it lets go.
-sam ali