I lost my words when I lost you

I talk to strangers the way I used to talk to you telling them the secrets I once trusted only you with, letting unfamiliar hearts hold the pieces of me that I thought would always be safe with you.

It feels strange, doesn't it? 
To tell someone else what you already knew
To laugh with people who don't know my story
to find comfort in arms that will never feel like you.

I seek pieces of you in everyone I meet
In the kindness of strangers
In the warmth of their words
Because you were once the place I ran to when life hurt
And now you're the very ache I'm trying to escape.

I look for joy in other people's laughter because yours no longer feels like home.
I search for peace in conversations with strangers because talking to you feels like talking to a ghost.

And sometimes, I wonder if you ever think of me
if you remember the things I told you in the dark
 if the secrets I left in the shelter of your heart still whisper my name when the world goes quiet.

The saddest part is that I haven't stopped wanting to tell you things.
 I still collect little moments throughout my day that I instinctively want to share with you
 before remembering that you are no longer my person.

So I tell them to strangers instead.
 I give my stories to people who don't know my past
My laughter to people who don't know my pain
and my heart to conversations that won't last.

Perhaps that's what losing someone really means not that you stop loving them, 
But that you slowly learn to live with all the things you can no longer tell them.

And you?

I have no words left for you. 
Not because there is nothing left to say,
 but because every word I ever had was once a little piece of me that I gave to you.

I spent so long making you my home that when I lost you, 
I didn't just lose someone to talk to I lost the part of me that knew how to speak.