thecursedhorcrux

[thecursedhorcrux]

ghosts of you

sometimes i swear you’re still here.

in the shape of shadows on my wall, in the way the wind moves through my curtains like it’s carrying your laugh.

i make tea for two, forget, and pour the second cup down the sink.

the house creaks at night, and i pretend it’s you coming home, instead of the echo of someone who never will.

[thecursedhorcrux]

unanswered

i hope you never feel what it’s like to text someone with your whole heart and watch them type, stop, type again, stop again, until the screen goes silent and you realize the conversation you’ve been holding onto has only been happening inside you.

[thecursedhorcrux]

Uneven Pages

I told her everything. The way my coffee had too much sugar that morning. How a song on the radio made me cry. The dreams that scared me. The thoughts I’d never said out loud to anyone but her.

I handed her my days, bit by bit, like folded notes passed in class each one marked read me, please.

And she? She smiled. She listened. She nodded. But her pages stayed blank.

She never told me much. The names in her stories were always vague. The places she went, the people she saw all veiled in silence, like secrets she never thought I earned.

I mistook mystery for softness. I thought maybe she was just shy. Maybe I’d open her up with time, the way rain opens petals.

But days passed. And still, she stayed closed.

I told her how I felt when I heard her laugh. She never told me who made her smile that day. I told her when I was lonely. She never said if she missed me back.

I was writing a novel in her name, while she scribbled a footnote in mine.

And maybe the truth is: I wasn’t talking to a wall I was talking to someone who never planned to speak back.

Still, I kept on. Like a fool who thought love meant telling her everything while never noticing how little she gave in return.

[thecursedhorcrux]

The Friend She Promised to Be

She said, Let’s be friends. And I, fool that I am, believed her. Believed that what we had could soften, not vanish could shift into something gentle honest true.

I sent messages into silence. I called, knowing she saw, knowing she wouldn’t pick up. She left my words on read not unread, just unacknowledged. And somehow that hurt worse.

Let’s be friends, she said. But she didn’t ask about my day. She didn’t show up when I needed someone or even when I didn’t. She gave one-word replies to questions I used to hear whole stories in.

I tried to make it easy. I tried to meet her where she left me. But how do you hold onto someone who doesn’t even pretend to hold back?

She asked for a friendship and then ghosted the part where she had to be a friend.

And maybe that’s when I knew she didn’t want to stay. She just didn’t want to feel like the one who left.

But she did. And now, so do I.

[thecursedhorcrux]

Back to Me

I gave so much of me to someone who never asked me to stay. And in that silence, I forgot the sound of my own voice.

I used to count the minutes between their replies, map my joy to their presence, my worth to their warmth. But no more.

Now, I wake and choose myself. Not out of pride, but out of necessity. Because I’ve seen what it costs to pour into someone who left their hands closed.

I’m learning to make peace with empty rooms, quiet phones, plans I keep alone. Because in the stillness, I can finally hear my own heart beat— and it sounds like survival.

This season is for me. For rebuilding what I abandoned, for loving what I once criticized, for choosing mirrors over memories.

It’s not selfish. It’s sacred. It’s coming home to the one person who never truly left me.

[thecursedhorcrux]

What Let Go of Me

I held on long after your hands let go gripping memories like lifelines, as if I could resurrect what had already slipped through the cracks.

You moved on in words you didn’t say, in replies that never came, in all the ways love turned into silence.

And still, I stayed. Built a home in hope, watered the past like it could bloom again.

But one day, I looked around and realized I was the only one still standing in that story.

And maybe that’s when it hit me you let go long before I ever thought to.

So now, I let go too. Not out of anger, not even out of pain. But out of mercy for the parts of me still waiting at a door that would never open.

Because peace begins where begging ends. And healing begins the moment you stop chasing what already chose to leave.

Let go of what let go of you not because you stopped caring, but because you finally started caring for yourself.

[thecursedhorcrux]

Letting Go

It didn’t happen all at once. Letting go never does. It was in the way I stopped rereading old messages, in the way I no longer searched for your face in every crowd.

It was in the silence I stopped trying to fill. In the tears I let fall without needing you to notice.

I used to think letting go meant forgetting that I’d have to erase every trace of you just to breathe again.

But no. Letting go meant remembering without aching. It meant holding the good things gently and setting them down without resentment.

You were a chapter beautiful, flawed, full of color and contradiction. But not the whole book.

So I turned the page. Not because I wanted to. Because I had to.

And somewhere in the quiet that followed, I heard my own voice again. And it was softer, but stronger. Lonely, but free.

And that, I think, is what letting go really means.

[thecursedhorcrux]

The Day I Chose Me

I used to wait for your name to light up my screen like it meant I was still worth something. I used to rehearse my replies, gentle, careful, hoping you'd notice that I never stopped loving you. Even when you gave less, I gave more. Even when your silence grew louder, I whispered my heart into the empty spaces.

But tonight I stopped.

Not because I stopped caring. But because I started remembering how it feels to be whole without waiting for someone to piece me together.

I still ache. I still miss. I still scroll back to our memories like they owe me closure.

But I am walking away now not in anger, not in bitterness but in love. Love for myself.

I won’t beg to be chosen in a place I was never seen. I won’t shrink anymore to fit into your maybe.

I am not the absence you left. I am the presence I reclaimed. And this this is the day I chose me. And let you go.

[thecursedhorcrux]

Every Kiss Was a Universe

There was poetry in the shape of her mouth, in the curve of a smile that made my world quieter.

Her lips soft as dusk, sweet as something you only taste once but remember forever.

The first time I kissed her, the earth didn’t shake but I did. Hands trembling, heart loud in my throat, like it knew this was holy ground.

She tasted of whispered secrets, of mornings that came gently, of something too good to be real for long. And I kissed her not just like a man in love but like a man who knew he’d been found after a long, lonely search.

When her lips met mine, it wasn't passion alone it was prayer, it was peace, it was everything I didn’t know I was aching for.

Some nights, I still feel the ghost of her there, as if my mouth remembers what the heart won’t let go. And I wonder does she think of it too? The way we spoke in silence, the way her breath became mine, how the world always disappeared just long enough for me to believe we might make it.

And maybe we didn’t. But there’s something about the way she kissed that still makes me believe in forever.

[thecursedhorcrux]

Kiss

There was music in her lips, not the kind you hear but the kind you feel like a hymn on trembling skin.

I remember how time slowed when mine met hers not a kiss, but a surrender, a soft, urgent confession we spoke without words.

Each kiss was a story told in heartbeats, a warmth I drank like rain after drought.

And in those moments, there was no world, no fear just the gravity of her mouth on mine, pulling me closer to everything I ever wanted.

[thecursedhorcrux]

Universe

She moves like a whisper in a world that never stops shouting a silhouette so delicate, yet she carries storms in silence.

Her body, petite as a falling leaf, seemed made to be held but never owned. She could fold into me like she belonged there a missing piece I didn’t know I’d lost.

There was something sacred in the way she fit under my chin, how her fingers barely reached but still managed to hold all of me.

She walked lightly but her presence pressed heavy on my heart. And in that tiny frame, I swear, was more warmth, more wonder, than most would ever notice.

People speak of stars as massive burning things but her… she was a flame that taught me how to see in the dark.

[thecursedhorcrux]

Her smile

It wasn't her smile that first undid me, but the dimple that followed like a secret only joy could coax out, a whisper on her cheek the world leaned in to hear.

It wasn't loud. It never had to be. Just a soft dent in skin, but it rearranged my sky.

When she laughed, it deepened not just the dimple, but everything I felt for her. It was gravity pulling me into the small and infinite center of her.

That dimple not carved by chance, but by kindness left over from a hundred past lives.

And even when she was silent, even when her face turned still that dimple lingered like memory, proof that softness once bloomed there.

If love ever had a place to hide, it would be there in the hush between her smile and that one small miracle on her face.

[thecursedhorcrux]

Her Brown Eyes, My Undoing

There’s a warmth the sun can’t mimic, a hush no night could hold in the gaze of her brown eyes, soft as stories never told.

They are not just eyes, but the end of every war in me. A place where silence sings, and I remember how to breathe.

They held galaxies without trying, moons that knew my name. Every glance felt like a promise, every blink, a gentle flame.

In their quiet depth I drowned, willing, wordless, unafraid for what is a man to do when love looks him in the face?

And now, when I close my own, all I see is that soft brown hue the kind of brown that feels like home, and still burns when it looks through you.

[thecursedhorcrux]

All the Rides We Took

I miss those rides, the car ones where your hand found mine between the gears and quiet songs, when silence felt like music because you were there.

I miss the scooty rides, you behind me, the wind stealing your laughter as I memorized every curve of the road and the way you leaned into life.

I miss the auto rides, shoulders touching, knees brushing, as the city blurred around us, but time stood still in your eyes.

I miss the train rides too those crowded tracks where we found space in each other. Your head on my shoulder, my heart quietly thanking the universe.

All those rides never felt like transport they were destinations. Because going anywhere with you always felt like home.

Now I ride alone. Same roads. Same rails. But without you, every journey just feels lost.

[thecursedhorcrux]

Moved on?

She’s laughing in pictures I don’t take, smiling in sunlight I no longer share. Her world keeps turning faster now, lighter now without me.

And here I am, still stuck in yesterday’s goodbye, replaying old texts like prayers that never got answered.

She’s moved on I see it in her silence, in the way she replies like a stranger wearing someone I used to love.

But I I haven’t moved an inch. Her name still tastes like longing on my tongue, her absence still burns where presence used to live.

I try, you know. To forget. To breathe. To un-love.

But how do you move on from someone who still lives in every version of your future?

[thecursedhorcrux]

Photographs

I see her photographs whenever I miss her which is all the time.

In the silence between hours, in the pauses between breaths, I find her smile trapped in pixels that no longer feel real.

Her laughter lives in a still frame, frozen mid-glow, while I sit here trying to remember what it sounded like.

Sometimes, I run my thumb across the screen as if it might warm with the memory of her skin.

I zoom in too close her eyes, her lips as if I might step back into the moment they were taken.

But a picture can’t hold her voice, or the way she’d say my name like it mattered.

And yet, I keep looking.

Because it’s all I have now a museum of moments where she’s still mine, and I’m still enough.

[thecursedhorcrux]

I Still Taste the Silence

I miss kissing her not just the way lips meet, but the stillness that followed, like the world paused to let us stay suspended in something soft and true.

It wasn’t just warmth. It was the way she leaned in as if she needed me too, the way her breath became mine for just a moment.

Now, my lips are just lips again. No spark, no tremble before skin. Only air, only the echo of what used to be.

I walk past people holding hands and wonder if they know how rare it is to kiss someone and feel safe inside it.

I miss her kiss like a song I forgot the words to. Like a prayer I once believed. Like home.

And the worst part? She probably doesn’t even remember how I used to close my eyes not because of habit, but because kissing her felt holy.