Some journeys have no destination, and yet we walk them anyway. Mine has always led to you, even when there was no road left to follow. Every day stretches into an ache that fills my chest, and still, time slips through my fingers like water whenever I let myself think of you. Your absence has teeth. It gnaws at me quietly, reshaping me until even my flaws ache for you, as if you were made to complete them. You became my prayer, the one I whisper into the dark where no one can hear. And if pain is the only thing you ever left me with, then I wear it like devotion. Even my dreams have become a map, pointing toward you. My sky keeps searching for your ground, my shadow keeps reaching for your light. If you will not meet me here, then I will find you elsewhere—on some other plane, in some other life, even in the space between sleep and death. This love has teeth, too. It devours, it consumes, and still, I let it. Even knowing it will end with me empty-handed, I cannot stop. I would rather be hollow with this love than whole without it. Incomplete as I am, I remain. Because some obsessions are not meant to be cured. Some aches are not meant to heal.