They don’t know they live in my lines,
in the curves of half-written poems,
where I hide their names
beneath metaphors and rain.
They don’t know that every silence
I’ve ever endured
became a verse,
and every goodbye
turned into a stanza I never planned to finish.
They’ve stopped remembering me—
but I still write them down,
so I don’t forget
how it felt
to be loved
and left.
Some people forget.
But for writers like us, forgetting isn't an option—we remember by writing.
Even if they no longer look back, I still do… through verses that never really end.
— Junayed Kabir
