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I still go to the places
where I met you by chance,
not to look for you,
but to remember
who I was before
losing you.
Between me and goodbye
there's still a space
that time hasn't closed.
It doesn't hurt —
it just weighs,
like someone who knows
something was missing
and yet needs to move on.
Some days your memory
arrives lightly,
almost beautiful.
On others,
it sits with me
like a conversation
that never happened.
Between me and goodbye
a remnant of us still lives,
not to hold me back,
but to remind me
that I also deserve what remains
after everything is gone.