It’s that moment when you realize you don’t matter as much to someone as they did to you and you find yourself wondering why you cared so much in the first place because the signs were there all along yet you can’t help but feel the empty pockets they once filled.

There is a quake in my chest, somewhere near the space my heart occupied before I handed it over to him.  It’s the echo of ghosts that reside there still; the ghosts of those who altered my being, weaved themselves within my fibers.

All I asked was not to be forgotten and you carry on as though I never was, as though I never moved you, as though you never loved me.

Tagged:  prose,   words,  
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