I've learned to keep your name
in the right place —
not too close,
so it doesn't hurt,
nor too far,
so it doesn't become a lie.
Sometimes it comes back,
knocks on the door,
but I don't open it.
Not out of pride —
but for peace.
I don't call you anymore,
even when the night
asks me to try.
I've understood
that there are paths
that only exist
when we stop following them.
I still keep your ways
in some twisted memories
that time insists on leaving.
They don't hurt,
they only remind me
of a feeling
that no longer fits inside me.
I don't call you anymore,
and that's okay.
Some stories
end quietly,
but continue teaching
even after the end.