Chasing Echoes in the Dark

I’ve been chasing echoes

in the dark—

old voices,

old versions of love,

old wounds

that still know

how to call my name.

Reaching for things

that aren’t there anymore

but somehow

still feel close enough

to touch.

That’s the cruelty of echoes.

They sound real.

Familiar enough

to make you turn around,

to make you wonder

if maybe this time

something lost

found its way back.

But it never does.

It’s just the sound

of what already happened

bouncing off empty places

inside you.

And still—

I chase it.

The memory

of what was said.

The silence

of what wasn’t.

The version of people

I keep rebuilding

from fragments

because the truth

feels harder to hold.

Maybe I’m not chasing them.

Maybe I’m chasing

who I was

before they became

an echo.

Before everything meaningful

started sounding

like distance.

But the dark

doesn’t return

what it takes.

It just teaches you

how easy it is

to mistake loneliness

for something calling you home.