u/GasolinePrttyPls1274

The truth is, it really doesn’t matter what I haven’t said. Anything I could say will fall into silence, and that silence is the answer. I don’t want it to be. I still cling to the deluded idea that if I explained myself just right…if I could make you see how much I care…how much I’ve always cared, you would return. You might wrap me in a tight hug and say “all is forgiven”. The only reminder I have of you now is the pain that lingers in your stead. I look for you in the birds, in the wind, the sun peaking through the blinds. I look for you in d movies, in song lyrics, and in quotes too long to remember. I wake up all night flush with adrenaline, hoping that when my clammy fingers grasp at my phone I’ll see your name there waiting for me.

The truth is, you’re not waiting for me, are you? You never attached the meaning I did to everything, right? It’s the only sense I can make out of this mess. I don’t want to keep walking without you. I would do anything to hear your voice one last time. To at least say goodbye to the person who made me feel the safest. I don’t think I will get the chance. I hope you’re happy. I hope that your life brings you everything you’ve ever desired. I hope you never spend a single day of the rest of your life not feeling cherished the way you should be. I would’ve done more if I had known you would be gone away from me so soon.

I’ll keep walking. Or at least, I promise I’ll try. I will always love you. But maybe it’s time to stop playing make-believe

The truth is, it really doesn’t matter what I haven’t said. Anything I could say will fall into silence, and that silence is the answer. I don’t want it to be. I still cling to the deluded idea that if I explained myself just right…if I could make you see how much I care…how much I’ve always cared, you would return. You might wrap me in a tight hug and say “all is forgiven”. The only reminder I have of you now is the pain that lingers in your stead. I look for you in the birds, in the wind, the sun peaking through the blinds. I look for you in d movies, in song lyrics, and in quotes too long to remember. I wake up all night flush with adrenaline, hoping that when my clammy fingers grasp at my phone I’ll see your name there waiting for me.

The truth is, you’re not waiting for me, are you? You never attached the meaning I did to everything, right? It’s the only sense I can make out of this mess. I don’t want to keep walking without you. I would do anything to hear your voice one last time. To at least say goodbye to the person who made me feel the safest. I don’t think I will get the chance. I hope you’re happy. I hope that your life brings you everything you’ve ever desired. I hope you never spend a single day of the rest of your life not feeling cherished the way you should be. I would’ve done more if I had known you would be gone away from me so soon.

I’ll keep walking. Or at least, I promise I’ll try. I will always love you. But maybe it’s time to stop playing make-believe

There was once a girl who lived beside the sea.

She had never been afraid of storms.

What frightened her was the sea on a cloudless day.

Because when the water was still, she could not tell what it wanted.

She watched the horizon every morning.

Some days, the tide came toward her.

Some days, it withdrew.

And some days, it seemed to do neither at all.

Then she met someone who lived beneath the moon.

From the first night, she felt herself being pulled toward him.

Not like a hand pulling another hand.

Something older than that.

Something inevitable.

Like water answering the moon.

She did not know whether he felt it too.

That was the trouble.

He would look at her,

and she would think:

Surely.

Then he would look away,

and she would think:

Perhaps not.

A smile became evidence.

A silence became evidence.

A touch became proof.

A distance became proof of the opposite.

She began collecting tiny moments,

trying to build certainty from them.

But certainty would not come.

Then, one night, he stood beneath the moon and began to change.

He became brighter.

Larger.

More alive.

And something inside her broke open.

She could not remain a quiet sea.

She became weather.

“You swell,” she whispered,

“and I monsoon.”

He looked at her as though he understood.

For one perfect moment,

she thought that was certainty.

But the moment passed.

And afterward, the questions returned.

When the skies began falling,

she stayed.

When everything around them seemed to collapse,

she loved him still.

That, at least, she knew.

What she didn't know

was whether he loved her.

So she waited for him to tell her.

He never did.

Years later, when the night was finally through,

the valley was strangely beautiful.

Everything was in bloom.

The places where the storm had broken the earth

were now filled with flowers.

The girl stood among them,

older now,

and understood something she had been too frightened to understand before.

She had spent years believing that certainty meant knowing

what another person felt.

It didn't.

Certainty could mean knowing

what you felt.

She had loved him.

That was certain.

She had been pulled toward him.

Certain.

She had become a monsoon whenever he swelled.

Certain.

Whether he had loved her back

would remain a question.

But the question no longer had the power

to make her doubt the answer she already possessed.

She looked toward the moon.

“I still shine when you do,” she said.

And for the first time,

she did not wait to see whether the moon answered.

She walked on.

Not because she had stopped loving him.

Not because she had finally learned that he never loved her.

But because uncertainty had finally become something else:

not the absence of truth,

but the space where truth had not yet been given.

And she discovered she could live there.

The sea could remain a sea

without knowing what the moon thought.

The heart could remain a heart

without being chosen.

And love could be real

even when its ending was not certain.

That was the certainty she had been searching for all along.

…has taught me one of the hardest lessons: that loving someone deeply does not mean they are able, willing, or ready to love you in the same way. I’ve carried questions that never found answers and feelings that had nowhere to land, yet through it all, one thing has never changed. I will never not open the door to hear your side of the story, no matter how bad it is. The truth may hurt, but silence leaves wounds that imagination only deepens. Whether it brings closure, understanding, or simply the chance to finally let go of what has been left unsaid, I would rather face an honest conversation than spend another day wondering what was real.