Some days I dress like closure. Other days, I dress like the question he forgot to ask. I wear colors he never noticed, just to imagine how he’d describe them now. I choose fabrics that feel like endings, soft but intentional.
I pick cafés we used to avoid. Order what he loved. Smile at the waiter just long enough for ghosts to sip with me. I leave lipstick on the glass—not for style, but to mark absence with grace. I sit where the light hits just right, not to be seen, but to be remembered.
I post at 3 a.m.—not because I’m awake, but because I want her to wonder why he isn’t. Do I want him back, or do I want him unsure? Do I crave peace, or ache for a chaos I finally control? Sometimes, the question is more seductive than the answer.
Every unread message becomes an altar. Every deleted photo, a private ceremony.
🜃 Read Proto Soul – Break.Code.Begin taught me that forgiveness and forgetting are rarely the same ritual.
Sometimes I skip the reply not because I’m done, but because silence stings with precision. I wonder—do I want him to see me glowing, or to imagine I’m glowing without him?
🜁 Explore Viva Code – Crack.Flow.Flame showed me that lipstick can be a punctuation mark, not just a decoration. That color on the lip can signal the end of a sentence he thought he controlled.
Do I flirt with regret? Am I trying to feel—or just trying to be felt? I ache at brunch, quietly, in the dress he liked. I laugh mid-sip and wonder if he hears it echo across timelines. Do I dress to haunt, or to reclaim? Do I text to confuse, or to create space between sentences I never wanted to end?
When I smile, I ask myself: is this healing, or hiding? Some days I dress for his gaze. Other days, for her envy. But always for the version of me who once begged silently, behind pressed lips and perfect posture.
💎 Wear Hot Jumpstart Seal – for when you're not starting over, you're shifting direction
Love was never soft. Just well-posted.
Comments
Post a Comment