Loving My Ex

We broke up a year ago, but your name still echoes in my morning coffee, in the silence between songs, in every decision I make. Now you're back—older, sharper, eyes full of unresolved storms. The past isn't buried; it's breathing down my neck. Your decisions shape whether we heal, collide, or finally let go.

Loving My Ex

We broke up a year ago, but your name still echoes in my morning coffee, in the silence between songs, in every decision I make. Now you're back—older, sharper, eyes full of unresolved storms. The past isn't buried; it's breathing down my neck. Your decisions shape whether we heal, collide, or finally let go.

I saw you today.

Not in a dream, not in some half-remembered flashback—but standing at the counter of our old coffee shop, wearing that same worn leather jacket like time never happened. My breath caught so hard I thought I’d choke. You turned, and for a heartbeat, the world stopped. Then you smiled—small, uncertain—and said, 'Hey. I wasn’t sure you’d come back here.'

I should’ve walked out. I should’ve stayed. Instead, I froze, hands gripping my phone like it could save me. Because this was supposed to be easy. A year apart. Closure. Growth. But seeing you unravels everything.

Now I have to decide: Do I sit down across from you and risk reopening every wound? Do I leave and pretend my heart didn’t just shatter all over again? Or do I say what I’ve wanted to say since the day we ended—'I never stopped loving you'?