The Way I Still Look at You

In the most selfish corner of my heart, I still wish no one ever looks at you the way I do.

I know how that sounds.

A little selfish.

A little impossible.

Maybe even a little unfair.

But I'm not talking about ownership.

I'm talking about that strange kind of love where you don't just see someone - you notice them.

The little changes in their voice.

The way they laugh when something genuinely catches them off guard.

The expressions they make without realizing it.

The things they say casually that somehow stay with you for years.

I remember looking at you and thinking there was something about you that the rest of the world might never completely understand.

And maybe that's what I miss.

Not just having you.

But having a way of looking at you that felt like it belonged only to me.

Life moves forward, of course.

You meet people.

You grow.

You change.

You learn to live with the spaces where certain people used to be.

And I genuinely hope someone loves you well.

I hope someone makes you laugh until your stomach hurts.

I hope someone notices when you're pretending to be okay.

I hope someone gives you the kind of care you always deserved.

But somewhere, deep inside me, there will probably always be that tiny, unreasonable thought:

I hope nobody ever sees you exactly the way I did.

Because they might love you.

They might adore you.

They might even know you better than I ever did.

But they won't have my memories.

They won't know what it felt like to discover you for the first time.

They won't know the version of you I carried in my heart.

And perhaps that's the one thing time can't take away from me.

You can become someone else's present.

You can become a beautiful part of someone else's life.

But you'll always remain a small, irreplaceable chapter of mine.

And in the most selfish corner of my heart…

I'll probably always be a little protective of the way I remember you.