Irreversible.

Love is an undoing of old dependencies.

Sometimes I think ignorance is a softer kind of living.

If we never met,

perhaps I would still sleep peacefully.

Perhaps silence would still sound like silence.

Before you, the world was lighter.

What a cruel thing it is, to meet someone at the right time only for life to become wrong afterward.

Nothing reached deeply enough into me to leave damage.

Then you arrived, and suddenly everything could hurt.

I knew the pause before your honesty.

I knew the sound of your laughter at impossible hours.

I knew how absence could sit beside a person like another body.

And now you follow me into everything.

Sometimes I think love is only another word for irreversible.

Because I cannot return to the person who did not know you.

That version of me is gone.

And grief

keeps the dead alive inside the living.

So even now, some part of me still waits for you the way drowning people wait for air.

Not because I believe you will return, but because my heart has not yet understood that losing you already happened.

Perhaps that is what love truly is.

Not salvation.

Just the unbearable privilege

of having something beautiful enough

to ruin your previous life.

Maybe love does not save us.

Maybe it only teaches us how to survive losing things slowly.

Maybe that is why I still carry you.

Like a wound.

Like a second heartbeat.