The skyline leans, like it knows something I don't— like it's been watching this fall long before I could name it.

I've been standing in the middle of it, trying to understand how something that once felt certain can turn this quiet.

I tried, you know. Not loudly— not in ways that demand to be seen— but in the small, steady ways that come from meaning it.

I stayed. I listened. I gave what I could, even the parts of me I didn't fully understand yet.

Not to hold you in place— just to meet you there.

And now everything feels… softer. Not broken, not shattered— just dimmed, like a light that didn't go out but forgot how to stay bright.

There's no anger here. No blame to carry. Just a quiet wondering of whether you ever saw me the way I was hoping you would.

If there was ever a moment where you paused long enough to notice— not the version of me that was easy, but the one that stayed, the one that chose you in all the quiet ways.

Because I did choose you. Again and again, without making a sound about it.

And maybe that's all this is— two people standing close, but not quite in the same place at the same time.

Still, somewhere in me, there was this simple, stubborn wish—

that one day, without being asked, without needing a reason,

you would look at me and choose me too.