Si t'étais là

There is a silence that is louder than any confession. In it, words rehearsed hundreds of times drown, and hope, which has already become tiresome to itself. Everything seems to have been said, all the roles have been played - but my fingers still reach for the phone, as if the last "maybe" is still there. Love here isn't a tragedy or a drama, but a habit, like an old sweater - warm, prickly, and long out of shape. And yet the heart stubbornly seeks a reason to remember, even tho it knows there's nowhere to return to. Sometimes you just need to be reminded that "it's time to let go" doesn't always mean "it worked out."