My words once poured like rivers,

soft, honest, unafraid.

I wrote you in verses, in whispers,

in the spaces between what I said.

You heard me, but you never listened,

held me, but never stayed.

Now you call, like I’m still waiting,

like my heart still beats the same.

But I have learned the weight of silence,

the strength in saying no.

I press decline, not out of anger,

but because I’ve outgrown the ghost of hope.

My emotions are not a melody

for you to hum when you’re alone.

My heart is not a fleeting feeling

for you to claim and then let go.

So, I leave your name unanswered,

not out of spite, but out of love,

for the girl who gave too much,

and now knows she is enough.

This was written by our contributing writer, Atia Sanjida.