07/04/2026
I think my soul knows you.
That’s the part I can’t seem to outrun.
the way it lingered long after it shouldn’t have.
There was no dramatic moment, no revelation carved in lightning.
It was quieter than that.
A familiarity rising from somewhere deep,
like remembering a place you’ve never been
or hearing a melody you somehow already know.
It was subtle, but certain.
And it stayed.
That’s the problem. It stayed.
Even now, something in me still turns toward you,
not with hope, not with expectation—
just a quiet pull, an old instinct I can’t unlearn.
It lives in the way my thoughts drift toward you without warning,
in the way your absence still shapes the air around me,
in the way memory keeps reaching for what is no longer here.
I keep thinking that we met for a reason.
That the healing you brought into my life arrived exactly when it was needed,
as if the universe placed you in my path with quiet intention.
And yet, sometimes I wonder if it all came a little too early—
if we were both still unfinished,
still learning how to hold ourselves,
let alone each other.
Perhaps our souls recognized one another long before our lives were ready to catch up.
I only know the echo of who you were to me,
and the way my heart—reckless, unguarded—once decided you were a place it could rest.
It feels unfair, in a way.
Because I’m the one left carrying this quiet, persistent knowing.
This thing that doesn’t demand anything
yet changes everything.
The days feel different because of it—
a little heavier, a little softer,
as if the world is tinted by something I can’t name.
It’s like my soul keeps whispering,
you mattered,
even when logic insists you shouldn’t anymore.
There is no request in this.
No reaching back toward what was lost.
Some things are meant to remain untouched,
held gently in the space between memory and longing.
This is simply the truth of it:
a small, steady warmth that refuses to disappear,
a recognition that lives quietly beneath the surface,
a familiarity that time has not managed to erase.
Maybe I no longer know you.
But somehow,
my soul still does.
Inspired by: R Khioriotun and adapted by me, Kaz Kizzley.
