There was a time when “forever” felt simple.
A word scribbled in the margins of a notebook,
a promise whispered in the quiet space between two young hearts
who didn’t understand the weight of it.
Back then, forever meant:
your smile in the hallway,
your name lighting up my phone,
your voice softening something inside me
I didn’t even have a name for yet.
I believed in forever with my whole chest —
unshaken, untested, untouched by reality.
But forever doesn’t always mean always.
Sometimes it means
“I loved you with everything I had at that time in my life.”
Sometimes it means
“I’m grateful for what you taught me
even if you didn’t stay.”
I’m not angry at the endings anymore.
They shaped the woman I became.
But I’ll never forget the girl who believed
that one single love
could rewrite her whole universe.
Reading Trauma Mama: Velvet & Taboo 