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34
Writer. @ University of Abuja
Not Mine
<p><br/></p><p><br/></p><p>We came close</p><p>too close.</p><p>Like two things</p><p>already breaking</p><p>trying to feel whole</p><p>inside each other.</p><p>Your silence</p><p>fit into mine.</p><p>Your absence</p><p>felt familiar</p><p>even before you left.</p><p>And still</p><p>I stayed.</p><p>Because when you find</p><p>something that feels real,</p><p>you don’t question</p><p>how long it will last.</p><p>You just hold it</p><p>like it won’t disappear.</p><p><br/></p><p><img alt="" src="/media/inline_insight_image/IMG_4458.jpeg"/><br/></p><p><br/></p><p>But everything does.</p><p>Slowly at first.</p><p>In the things</p><p>we stop saying.</p><p>In the spaces</p><p>that grow between breaths.</p><p>Until one day</p><p>you realize</p><p>you are no longer</p><p>being held</p><p>just… remembered</p><p>by something</p><p>that has already let go.</p><p>And somehow,</p><p>even that</p><p>passes for love</p><p>when you don’t know</p><p>how to leave.</p><p><br/></p><p><img alt="" src="/media/inline_insight_image/IMG_4464.jpeg"/><br/></p><p><br/></p><p>Because I remember</p><p>finding it.</p><p>Not loudly.</p><p>Not all at once.</p><p>Just a quiet arrival</p><p>like warmth</p><p>in a place that had forgotten</p><p>how to feel.</p><p>It didn’t ask for much.</p><p>Just space.</p><p>Just time.</p><p>And I gave it both</p><p>without realizing</p><p>I was also giving</p><p>pieces of myself</p><p>I would never get back.</p><p>I noticed myself</p><p>growing lighter</p><p>not healed,</p><p>just… less whole.</p><p>Like something inside me</p><p>was already learning</p><p>how to let go.</p><p><br/></p><p><img alt="" src="/media/inline_insight_image/IMG_4465.jpeg"/><br/></p><p><br/></p><p>So if death came</p><p>to sit beside me</p><p>and said, “it’s time,”</p><p>I don’t think</p><p>I would be surprised.</p><p>Not when I have already</p><p>known it</p><p>in softer ways.</p><p>In the way something beautiful</p><p>can exist</p><p>and still slip through your hands</p><p>like it was never yours</p><p>to hold.</p><p>Maybe I would look at it</p><p>the way I once looked at you</p><p>like something</p><p>I didn’t want to lose,</p><p>but somehow</p><p>already was.</p><p>And maybe</p><p>that is what death is</p><p>not an ending,</p><p>but the last trace</p><p>of every soft goodbye</p><p>we survived</p><p>without realizing</p><p>it was breaking us.</p><p>So if it says,</p><p>“it’s time,”</p><p>I will stand.</p><p>Not ready.</p><p>Not whole.</p><p>Just someone</p><p>who once found something</p><p>beautiful enough to keep</p><p>and learned,</p><p>too late,</p><p>that not everything</p><p>you find</p><p>is yours</p><p>to stay.</p><p><br/></p>
Not Mine
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