I tell myself not to wait,
not to expect,
not to hope
for something that may never come back.
But somehow…
I still do.
I still check my phone
a little more than I should,
I still pause sometimes
thinking maybe… it's you.
It's not even intentional anymore,
it just happens.
Like my heart hasn't fully understood
what my mind already knows.
And I hate that feeling—
this quiet hope
that refuses to die.
Because waiting is exhausting,
especially when
you don't even know
what you're waiting for.
But still…
some part of me
believes in a "maybe."
And I don't know
how to let go of that.