I still think of us,
together,
sometimes.

It’s never much,
just fleeting thoughts
of what I’d tell you
in certain moments.

I used to think
you could read my mind —
as if my face was covered
in unspoken words.

I miss seeing
your lips quirk
and that playfulness
light up your eyes.

I wonder if you ever think of me
at the exact time I think of you.

Maybe you don’t think of me anymore,
but I’d like to think that there’s an invisible thread
connecting us, and if I only was able to tug on it,
you’d know you’re on my mind.