How Can I Accept Baby

Описание: How Can I Accept, Baby
How can I accept, baby,
that love can sit so heavy in the chest
and still be asked to stay quiet?
How can I accept that my hands remember you
even when my arms are empty,
that my heart still reaches
for a door that no longer opens?
How can I accept, baby,
that the mornings arrive without your voice,
that the sun still rises
as if nothing sacred was lost?
I wake up holding your name like a prayer,
whispering it into the pillow,
hoping the walls will carry it back to you.
How can I accept that forever
was spoken so easily,
like a promise written on water,
like something the wind could erase?
I believed in us with the kind of faith
that doesn’t ask questions,
the kind that kneels and says,
“Take everything, just don’t take you.”
Baby, how can I accept
that love alone was not enough,
that wanting you didn’t rewrite fate,
that my patience could not heal
what silence slowly broke?
I gave you my gentlest parts,
the ones I usually hide,
and now they ache in the open air.
How can I accept the nights, baby,
when memories line up like ghosts—
your laughter in the dark,
your name on my lips,
the way you once looked at me
like I was home?
Every memory is a question
with no answer at the end.
How can I accept that you moved on
while I am still standing
in the same place we last said goodbye?
Time keeps walking,
but my heart sits down,
refusing to leave the moment
where your hand slipped from mine.
Baby, tell me how to accept
that love can be real
and still not stay.
How can something so alive
turn into something I have to grieve?
They say, “Be strong,”
but they don’t tell you
how strength feels exactly like breaking.
How can I accept that I must unlearn you—
your habits, your smile,
the future I planned in my head?
I built rooms in my dreams
with your name on every door,
and now I wander through them alone,
touching walls that echo your absence.
Yet even in this ache, baby,
even in this long, trembling sadness,
I cannot hate you.
Love does not turn bitter so easily;
it softens, it bruises, it stays kind.
If loving you is my wound,
then missing you is my scar.
Maybe acceptance is not forgetting.
Maybe it is learning to breathe
with the weight still there.
Maybe it is loving you quietly now,
from a distance my heart never wanted,
and letting life grow around the pain.
So if one day I finally accept it, baby,
know this truth I’ll carry forever:
I didn’t lose because I loved too much.
I loved honestly, deeply, completely—
and even in heartbreak,
that kind of love is never a regret.