I’d Still Let You In

I miss you in ways I’ll never admit.

I still whisper your name
when no one is around,
as if saying it softly
might somehow bring you back.

I remember things
I have no business remembering,
the way you looked at me,
the way you held me,
the little things you probably forgot.

I tell everyone I’m fine.
I’ve gotten very good at lying.

But some nights,
I let myself miss you completely.
No pride. No pretending.
Just me, alone with the truth:

I still love you.
And I hate myself a little
for how much I do.

Because if you came back tonight,
I know I’d open the door,
even after everything.

Maybe that’s the part
I’ll never confess to anyone.
Not even you.