We declare each other strangers, but no strangers would look at each other and be reminded of love.
It's the kind of lie we tell ourselves to make the ache more bearable.
To say we’re nothing more than two people passing in the night.
But the truth lingers in the spaces between our stolen glances, in the way our eyes still search for each other in a crowded room.
No, strangers wouldn’t flinch at the sight of a familiar smile.
Strangers wouldn’t feel the weight of memories that press on the heart.
Strangers don’t look at each other and remember the way love once felt.
We can call ourselves strangers all we want, but the way our gazes says everything we’re too afraid to admit:
we were never meant to forget.
