The strangest part is not that you stayed.

The strangest part

is that we never really began.

No shared memories.

No long walks.

No photographs.

No voice notes I replay when I cannot sleep.

Just fragments.

A few conversations.

Months of silence.

And a familiar name

appearing on my screen

when I least expect it.

By all logic,

we should be strangers.

Yet every time you return,

it feels less like meeting someone new

and more like finding a bookmark

inside a book

I never finished reading.