There are a hundred questions I’ll never get the answer to,
but I already know them
and somehow, I’m still here.
Still loving you in the quiet corners of my chest
where peace goes missing
and pride forgets how to speak.
I keep asking anyway.
Maybe because the questions are the only thing that still connect us.
Do you love me, or do you just love the way I stay?
Do you miss me, or just the way I made you feel like enough?
When you hold me, do you see me
or are you holding the version of me that didn’t ask for more?
Because I need more.
More than “I love you.”
More than touch without presence.
More than the same promises dressed up in silence.
Is this what your love is supposed to feel like
me fighting for air while you swear you’re trying?
Or maybe I’m not the person you really want to give it to.
Maybe your love just doesn’t know how to meet me where I am.
I replay your words like prayers I no longer believe in.
I search your tone for softness,
your eyes for truth.
Every answer hides behind “you know I care,”
but caring has never been enough to keep me warm.
Why did you say you wanted forever
if you only meant “for now”?
Why does love sound like home when it keeps leaving me homeless?
Why do I still reach for you,
knowing you’ve already let go in ways you won’t admit?
There are a hundred questions, maybe more
and none of them change the fact
that I still love you.
But love isn’t enough.
It never was.
So here I am,
holding both truth and tenderness in the same shaking hands,
trying to accept that maybe
you were never meant to be my answer
just my reminder
that even when love breaks me,
I still know how to feel deeply.
