I have no proof that I was ever truly yours. But somehow, it’s enough for me to know there are still traces of you on my body. You once crossed my lips, and the scent of your perfume still lingers on my bed. My heart flutters each time I hear your voice.

I have no proof that I ever meant anything to you, but women always know. We feel it in our bones. Yet, I wonder—why is my judgment always so clouded? Still, somewhere deep inside, selfishly or not, I hold onto the thought that maybe, just maybe… I mattered. Yes, perhaps I was important to someone.

You convinced me. I admit it, and congratulations are in order. It didn’t take long for me to fall under your spell. I melted before your eyes, and you could have told me anything—I would’ve done it all. You asked me to hold you close, to wake up nestled beside you, and I agreed without hesitation. You asked for the very words I longed to hear.

That’s why I believed we understood each other, that we had a chance.

But that was just the beginning of the end. I had already dreamed up an entire life in my mind—a life with you. I envisioned us waking up together every morning, something magical, something beautiful. Yet in truth, none of those mornings will ever come to pass. I will never wake up next to you again.

In the end, I have no proof that we loved each other… Actually, I’m lying. I do. I have my heart. But it will never tell the truth.