Someone Else’s Tomorrow

It’s a quiet kind of pain.
Not loud, not breaking things,
just a slow, steady ache
that settles in your chest
and refuses to leave.

It’s loving someone
in a space where they no longer exist,
reaching for a hand
that doesn’t reach back,
learning the shape of absence
like it’s something you’re meant to carry.

It’s watching from a distance.
Their laughter no longer yours,
their smile given freely
to someone who didn’t have to lose it first.
And you sit there, still,
like time forgot to take you with it.

It’s the future that hurts the most.
The one you built in quiet moments,
in late-night promises,
in “one day” and “we will.”
Now those words live on,
just… not with you.

Someone else steps into the life
you once traced with careful hands,
walks through doors you dreamed of opening,
hears the same laughter
you thought would always be yours.

And the hardest part?
Knowing love didn’t leave you,
it just stayed
long after it was supposed to.