Life Moves On (And So Did I)

Once, you were a storm,
thundering through my world with hands that ripped,
a voice that cracked the sky,
a presence I could not ignore.

But storms pass.
And in their wake, the earth does not mourn the rain—
it blooms.

I have forgotten the weight of your shadow,
the shape of your name in my mouth,
the sound of your footsteps in rooms I no longer stand in.
You were an echo—
fading, thinning,
until silence swallowed you whole.

I do not carry you.
You are not a ghost in my mirrors,
not a stain upon my past,
not a scar worth tracing with my fingertips.

You do not haunt me.
You do not define me.
You are nothing but a misplaced page,
ripped from the book of my life,
tossed to the wind,
and lost somewhere between yesterday and never again.

I have outgrown the space where you stood,
planted gardens where you left ruin,
and learned that time does not stop for those
who scream to be remembered.

Life moved on.
And so did I.