Dear Whomever

Dear Whomever,

I don’t even know what to call you any more

so “whomever” feels right.

Somewhere between “my love” and “my lesson,”

you lost your name in my life.

I used to say it like it meant something

like it belonged to me,

like every syllable had a heartbeat

that echoed back to “we.”

Now it just sit on my tongue

like a question I don’t ask out loud.

’Cause answers got a way of hurting

when the silence already too loud.

I gave you pieces I was still learning how to keep,

trusted you with parts of me

I barely let myself see.

And maybe that was my fault—

building a home in somebody

who was still figuring out how to leave.

You ever miss me?

Or do I just visit you

when the world get quiet

and your distractions go to sleep?

’Cause me

I still trip over memories

like they left their shoes by my door.

Still catch myself reaching for you

like my heart ain’t learned the score.

I ain’t writing this for closure—

I don’t even think that’s real.

Some wounds don’t close,

they just learn how to feel… quieter.

But I had to say something—

even if it’s into a space

you might never return to.

So yeah…

Dear Whomever,

I hope you find what you were looking for—

even if it wasn’t me.

—Me