
Leave—
before the walls remember my name,
before the floorboards learn the sound
of my shaking hands.
Leave—
while there’s still a part of me
that believes I’m worth staying for,
before the shadows start whispering
everything I’ve tried to forget.
I can’t promise I won’t miss you.
I can’t promise I won’t ache
in places you never even touched.
But I won’t ask you to hold on
to someone who keeps slipping
through their own fingers.
So go,
while the door still opens,
while the sky outside
still carries a little color.
Leave—
not because I don’t care,
but because I do.
And because sometimes
loving me
means walking away
before the darkness drags you down too.