And still, even with all the lies they have told you, even with the narrative they have crafted, even with the people they have convinced, you haunt them. You live in the background of their mind like a whisper they cannot mute. In quiet moments, in random songs, in the smell of your perfume on a stranger, in the empty silence after a fight with their new supply, you appear. And in those rare, terrifying moments of clarity, they know. They know they destroyed something sacred. They know they will never be loved like that again. They know they lost someone who truly saw them. And they know they will spend the rest of their life pretending it never mattered. But it did.
And that’s what I want you to know: no matter what they tell themselves, no matter how many times they say it wasn’t that bad, they remember. And it hurts, whether they acknowledge it or not.
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