I recall her laugh, filling the room like a favorite song you didn’t realize you missed until it played again. I remember lingering kisses—not for passion, but silence afterward. Her scent on my hoodie, her nervous hair-tucking, and silent moments. These weren’t just women; they were moments. Each left a mark—some longer, others fleeting. I wondered if I was hard to love or just meant for now. Now, I stop chasing ghosts. I’m not bitter, just aware. Not everything meant to be stays—it's okay. I’ve grown, learning to carry love, not loss. I feel deeply but breathe lighter. In a new city, new rhythm—maybe love again, or just me. And I’m okay with that. Here’s to every version of me left behind—and every song that helped me let go. This is my mixtape—not of heartbreak but of becoming.
