Maybe I miss your lovin’—
or maybe I miss
who I was
when it felt like enough.
It’s hard to tell
what part of you stayed
and what part of me
never really left.
Because it wasn’t just you—
it was the way
everything softened
when you were near,
the way the world
felt less heavy
for a while.
Maybe I don’t miss you
the way I think I do.
Maybe I miss
the quiet in my chest
when I didn’t have to question
where I stood.
The way your name
used to feel certain
instead of distant,
instead of something
I turn over in my mind
like it might change shape.
I catch myself sometimes—
reaching for something
that isn’t there anymore,
like memory
still believes
it can touch you.
And maybe
that’s the truth of it—
I don’t miss
what it became.
I miss
what it was
before it broke,
before it turned
into something
I had to let go of.
So yeah—
maybe I miss your lovin’.
Or maybe
I just miss
the version of us
that didn’t know
it wouldn’t last.
Through the Fog 