Yet You Were Here Do you ever hear the echoes of something that never happened? A street where the rain never stops. A place frozen in time. Somewhere caught between yesterday and never. If you walk there, if you listen closely, you can hear it—unsaid goodbyes. Ghost of a forgotten name. The feel of a hand never held long enough. I was once told that memories never truly go away. They simply look for other hiding spots. In between laughs. In the silence before your name is called. In the second before never. Maybe that's why I keep seeing him. Not in the way you'd think. Not like a shadow in the corner of my vision. Not like a dream I can wake up from. I see him in the way a stranger's voice almost sounds like his. The way that old love songs hurt more than they're meant to. Every time I walk by that street, where the rain never stops, my fingers clench into fists. I see him everywhere he isn't. Occasionally, late at night, I wonder... Was he ever real? Or perhaps an echo of something that never happened...