There’s a kind of silence that lingers after someone leaves. Not the loud, dramatic kind, but the quiet one—the one that settles in the corners of your room, in the spaces between your thoughts, and in the empty chair at the dinner table. It’s not just about absence; it’s about the weight of what was once there.

"Come back to me" isn’t just a plea. It’s a whisper of hope, a fragile thread holding you together when everything else feels like it’s unraveling. You don’t say it with anger or desperation. You say it with a soft voice, as if the words might break if you speak too loudly. Because sometimes, the hardest thing is to admit that you need someone—not just for love, but for stability, for understanding, for the comfort of knowing you’re not alone.

But what does it really mean to "come back"? Is it about returning to a place? A time? A version of yourself that once felt whole? Or is it about coming back to the person you were before everything changed?

In the end, "come back to me" is more than a request. It's a promise—of loyalty, of memory, of the unspoken bond that refuses to die. It's the part of you that still believes in second chances, even when the world tells you otherwise.

So if you're reading this and you've ever said those words, know this: you're not alone. And maybe, just maybe, someone out there is saying them back to you.