u/Resident_Floor_326

The ghost of every memory made of you holds all my thoughts captive
The poison of your sweet kisses along with your tender words, is like the sweetest nectar I still hold inside
Like a bird that drifts aimlessly, and how it gets lost in a sea of tears, your voice, your tenderness it cannot be erased and it hurts so so bad
Thats why i wonder… why did I come to know you, if i have to live without you
Its terrible loneliness, its anguish in continue living without you like this
I miss you so dearly
Life brought us together. You said it was like the universe knew what we needed
But then it tore us apart in the end
So then why
WHY?!?
Why did I come to know you, if i have to live without you
Please remember me, just as I remember you
My shona amar
May the universe grant it one day that your path become my path

On Xbox and it would be nice if I could get up to GM. I’ll be playing after work in about 8-9 hours. I can play as anything but have been enjoying being support. If you know anyone else to join let’s do this

I don’t know if you’ll ever see this.
Maybe that’s why I’m able to write it.
There are things I haven’t been able to say to you, or maybe even fully to myself. So this is my attempt to send them somewhere beyond me. A cry into the void, I suppose, with some quiet and perhaps foolish hope that somehow, someday, they might find their way to you.
I was the one who said I didn’t want to continue.
At the time, I thought I understood what I was doing. I thought I knew what your absence would feel like.
I didn’t.
I didn’t realize how much space you had come to occupy in my life until you were no longer there. I didn’t realize how much comfort I found in simply knowing that the next day might bring another message from you, another conversation, another moment of hearing your voice.
I would look forward to our talks on my way to work. They became part of the rhythm of my life without me ever deciding that they would. There was something about knowing you were there, somewhere miles away, that made those ordinary mornings feel like they belonged to something more.
I miss our conversations.
I even miss the silences.
Those sweet silences when neither of us had to fill the space, when simply knowing you were on the other end was enough. And then, eventually, I would hear you laugh.
I miss your laugh.
I miss hearing the change in your voice when you began to feel at ease. I miss the nights when you would come home exhausted after a long shift at the hospital and somehow I could bring you some measure of comfort. I miss hearing you become calmer. More peaceful. I miss knowing that, even from so far away, I could be a place where you felt safe enough to rest for a while.
I miss that I was something to you.
That I was something for you.
I don’t know if I understood how much that meant to me until I no longer was.
Since then, even sleep has felt different. Less restful. As though some part of me is still waiting for something that I was the one who chose to end. I didn’t know how much peace there was in falling asleep knowing that I might hear from you the next day.
I miss you.
There. I said it.
I miss you in ways I wasn’t prepared for, and perhaps in ways I didn’t allow myself to understand while I still had you in my life.
I wonder what you’re doing. I wonder how you’ve been. I wonder whether I ever cross your mind, or whether the place I occupied in your life closed as quickly as I once told myself mine would. I would be lying if I said I didn’t wonder whether my absence left any kind of void in you, too.
And still, I haven’t reached out.
Part of it is pride. Part of it is fear. I don’t know which one has the stronger grip on me.
You once saw something in me that I thought I had outgrown. You saw that I needed to be more assertive. To take risks. To take charge of my own life instead of always waiting until I felt certain or safe.
The truth is, I still lack those things.
Even now. Even as an adult.
Maybe this silence is proof of that.
I am afraid that if I reach for you, I’ll find that you no longer want to be reached. I’m afraid that the way we left things made you determined never to look back.
And I wouldn’t fault you for that.
But there is another question beneath that fear. One I am even more afraid to ask.
Would you have given me a chance if you knew there were things I kept from you?
Would you understand why I did?
I don’t know the answer. I don’t know if knowing everything would make you see me with more understanding or less. Maybe that is part of why I have remained silent. Because as much as I fear being rejected, I think I fear being fully known and then rejected even more.
And yet, somehow, you were also the person who taught me what it felt like to be vulnerable.
You made me feel that there could be someone willing to take me as I am—with my flaws, my fears, my hesitations, all the unfinished parts of me—and not immediately turn away. Someone willing to see those things and still work with me. Still remain.
You taught me passion.
You taught me a whimsical side of myself that I’m not sure I knew how to access before you. With you, I could imagine things. I could play with possibilities. I could write stories about us and about some fantastic version of what might have been if the miles between us had ever disappeared and we had actually met.
I would create worlds where we did.
I wonder now if those stories were my way of going somewhere I was too afraid to go in real life.
There was so much you taught me. And what hurts is knowing how much more you could have taught me, if I had let you.
It’s strange to think that all of this began with something so small. A post. A message. A decision to reach out without any idea what I was stepping into. I could never have imagined that it would lead to that first call, or that the person on the other end of it—someone miles away—would come to leave such an impression on my life.
On my soul.
I never imagined I would yearn for you.
But I do.
And perhaps the hardest thing to admit is that I don’t only miss you.
I miss the person I was becoming with you.
I miss the whimsical part of me that you found. I miss the vulnerability you drew out of me. I miss having someone to write impossible stories about. I miss being able to make you laugh. I miss being the voice that could bring you peace after a long day.
I miss being something to you.
Something for you.
And I don’t know if I will ever stop wondering what might have happened if, for once, I had been the person you told me I needed to become.
If I had taken the risk.
If I had taken charge.
If I had told you everything.
If I had stayed.

I always enjoy the company in anything I do. Keep me company and we’ll talk about whatever is going on. We can start by you telling me how your day has been