u/SkinHorror6080

…

I’m sorry. I don’t think those words are big enough. I don’t think there are words big enough. From the bottom of my stupid heart…

I’m so sorry.

You don’t know me.I won’t ever dare know you.We’ve never sat across from each other.Never shared a meal.Never laughed together.

Never got the chance to exist outside the worst possible versions of one another. We only knew each other, through one foolish boy. Through half truths. Through half lies. Through fear. Assumptions.

Through imagination. Through stories told from opposite sides of the same door. Somewhere along the way, It didn’t occur to me there was another girl standing at the other end of all this.

Not “the girl he was dating.” Not the reason he just “disappeared” Not the person keeping him from me. Just…a girl. A girl who loved him.

“The” girl he loved.

His person.His home. His Someone, The one whose toothbrush slowly found its place beside his. Who had dreams with him that I knew nothing about…and had no right to. Who was trying to build something beautiful.

I never wondered...Did I frighten you? Did I make you cry? How many nights did you lied awake worrying you weren’t enough. Did you compare yourself to me? Wondering why his past still had a pulse?

I wish I had. I really do.

I was just another girl who went a little crazy over the foolish boy for a little while. And without meaning to…I put that pain on you.

I’m sorry.

He hurt me.That’s true. Years of shady silence. Years of questions, no clarity. Years of trying to understand a friendship I couldn’t get back.

I was so busy trying to make sense of my own heart…The family I mistook him for.The friendship.The waiting.The promises.

But that’s all bullshit.

I hurt you.

Then there was you. Your anger. Your words. The names you called me. The hate you spewed. You hurt me too....But God did I deserved it. You were protecting your home. It was simply a consequence of existing somewhere I had no business being.

…I didn’t know.

You became “the girl who took him.”

I became “the girl who wouldn’t leave.”

We became two girls standing on opposite sides of the same fire. Oh, what foolish boys do. I wonder...If we met differently, would we recognised ourselves in each other? I’ll never know. I should have stepped away. I should have. I kept knocking on a door that wasn’t mine anymore. Not because I wanted your place. Not because I believed he still loved me. I didn’t...

You are the love of his life.

I’m well aware.

I was just trying to get home.To my friend. I just didn’t know home had quietly become someone else…I didn’t know.

Shared meals. Lazy mornings. Birthdays. Arguments that ended in forgiveness. A favourite toy. Inside jokes no one else understood. Plans. Dreams. All the ordinary little things that slowly became a home.

I walked straight through it with muddy shoes. Not because I wanted to dirty it. But because I couldn’t see it.

If my sorry’s are worth anything at all. I’m so sorry. If hearing my name made your heart heavier, I’m sorry. If I made you question a love that had done nothing to deserve questioning. I’m sorry. If I became another thing your love had to survive,

I am so deeply, deeply sorry.

Yes.

I met him again.

I know that hurts you.

Please hear the rest.

Because,

for the first time…

I see you.

Your love.

It is everywhere... In the photographs he cannot put away. In the paintings that still held pieces of you. On screens that watch over you. In little habits that only happen when someone has lived inside another person. In the way your name softened him before he even realised it had. He didn’t have to tell me how much he loved you. His grief already had And all I could think was…

Gosh I’ve been a doofus. I never understood.

I kept asking who he was to me.

I never once stopped to ask…

Who were you to him?

His soul yearns for you. Your laugh makes him shy. You are who he imagines growing old beside. You are his soul. Oh, what a beautiful life the two of you would build together.

He told me something you once said.

About ex’s and broken hearts.

Wet clay. Once broken, you can spend forever trying to press it back together. Cracks fall through.I thought I was trying to save something. Instead, I left fingerprints on your soul because I couldn’t wash the clay from my hands.That’s on me.

I don’t know where your story is now.

I know enough not to ask.

But I hope, more than I have any right to, the two of you find your way back to each other. It’s hard to find two souls so intertwined by pure, unwavering love.

I know…He made strange choices. He broke your trust. He deserves your anger and rage.

Know that he’ll spend the rest of his life making up for it and making sure you never ever have to feel this way again.

He will forever choose you. Know that.

…and this is coming from me. I know. The irony isn’t lost on me.

I’m the villain. If I could erase myself from the day he first knew my name, I would. I’m the horrible piece of dirt. I mistook my heart and soul for permission to remain part of this story. I’m the home wrecker. I couldn’t see your home until I had already walked through it.

If your souls ever find their way back to each other, Do find it in your heart to believe that You both shall forget I ever existed. From the bottom of my bad mean heart…

I am sorry.

I had an acl + medial + lateral meniscus bucket handle tear repaired with arthroscopic surgery. It's been almost 2 (1.5) years. I had done my physio diligently. Now my knee is still unstable. I have shocks when pinching certain parts of shin. I can run but can't play sports. Knee is still weak. Physio says it's because of my hyper flexibility that makes me prone to injury. How do I get normal again. Ability to not think of my leg before I play a sport or run or trip and feel pain on my inner knee.

I've been working on strengthening my knee too. It's not that I cannot run. I can but there is pain still. pain when I wake up in the morning on my inner knee surgical a stitch area and pain when I trip or begin running. any advice on exercises that helped you all best? what about the pain in the mornings? Anybody been through this?

I had an acl + medial + lateral meniscus bucket handle tear repaired with arthroscopic surgery. It's been almost 2 (1.5) years. I had done my physio diligently. Now my knee is still unstable. I have shocks when pinching certain parts of shin. I can run but can't play sports. Knee is still weak. Physio says it's because of my hyper flexibility that makes me prone to injury. How do I get normal again. Ability to not think of my leg before I play a sport or run or trip and feel pain on my inner knee.

I've been working on strengthening my knee too. It's not that I cannot run. I can but there is pain still. pain when I wake up in the morning on my inner knee surgical a stitch area and pain when I trip or begin running. any advice on exercises that helped you all best? what about the pain in the mornings? Anybody been through this?

​

The more time I spend with you, the less there is left to love.

The more time I spend with you, the more you become a stranger to me.

I keep choosing your company still.

Every hour with you peels away the illusion of the boy I was in love with.

I’m not falling back in love. I’m watching myself fall out of it.

Finally.

There’s something strangely gentle about that.

Bittersweet.

You wear heartbreak like a wound, leave little cuts on those who care.

You cannot speak your feelings honestly. Simply because you don’t want to. It serves you better this way.

Coward.

Irresponsible.

Yet, you know exactly how to make people feel wanted.

Unconscious manipulation.

Not loved.

Wanted.

Just enough to keep them around.

Just enough to make them doubt themselves when you do your sad disappearing acts.

You compulsive liar.

What happened to that sweet, innocent boy I fell in love with?

Maybe nothing happened at all. Maybe I’ve just spent years loving someone who only existed in memories. Maybe I confused loneliness with love.

Honeymoons of nostalgia.

Maybe this is who you’ve always been. Maybe I’ve just gotten used to the edges enough for me to mistake them for something gentle. Maybe I only ever loved you in the stories I told about myself.

The more I know you...

The less I miss you.

The less I believe your version of events.

The more I’m glad you left.

The more I believe you deserve it.

It’s funny.

Only I can understand your pain, my friend. You put me through the same exact shit. You’re too proud to say sorry and make up for it.

I couldn’t care anymore. I’ll just say...

Karma’s a bitch :)

If I could, I’d return you to the life you keep looking back at.

The one you measure every person against.

The one you still quietly live in.

I’d walk out of yours without saying goodbye.

I make assumptions because you’ve built your life around never saying what you actually feel.

Today I took Cruss.

He was sitting in your laundry basket.

You used to tell me you hugged him to sleep.

You didn’t notice he was gone.

Funny.

For someone so afraid of losing people...

You rarely notice when they leave.

You shouldn’t have reached out.

Goodbye.

I finally understand you

One day you wake up and realize you’ve been talking to a stranger for months, except they’re wearing the face of someone you once knew better than yourself.

I finally understand you.

God.

I wish I didn’t.

I wish I had never seen this version of you.

Not because I don’t want you to love like this.

Because I don’t know where it leaves me.

I’ve been sitting beside you while you grieve her.

Watching you become softer around her name.

Watching your eyes disappear somewhere I cannot follow.

Watching your whole body remember someone.

I didn’t know bodies could remember like that.

I didn’t know yours could.

Not like this.

I thought I knew what your love looked like.

I was wrong.

You speak about her like grief is a language your body learnt before your mouth did.

The paintings.

The photographs.

The playlists.

God.

The playlists.

“This one reminded me of her.”

I press play.

I always do.

And somewhere in the middle of another song about somebody else…

my old heartbreak quietly walks back into the room.

It doesn’t knock.

It just sits down beside me.

I thought we’d buried this.

Apparently, we just covered it with enough years that neither of us had to look at it.

Were there ever playlists about me?

Don’t answer quickly.

Actually think.

Did you ever hear a song and have to stop walking because it sounded too much like me?

Did you ever avoid a café?

A street?

A joke?

Did my birthday ever arrive before you remembered the date?

Did my absence ever interrupt your day?

Or did I only exist while I was standing in front of you?

I hate these questions.

I hate myself for asking them while you’re trying to survive losing somebody.

I know how ugly they are.

I know they make your grief about me.

I don’t want that.

I really don’t.

I want to sit beside you.

I want to listen to the same story about her for the hundredth time.

Tell me everything.

Tell me what she loved.

Tell me what frightened her.

Tell me about the stupid arguments.

Tell me about the future.

Tell me everything.

Because I know what grief weighs.

And because I love you.

Now don't let that get to your head.

You know what I mean.

Differently now.

Surely oh so very differently.

That’s the problem.

I don’t know anything anymore.

Every story you tell about her answers a question you never answered about us.

Not because you finally said it.

Because I finally saw it.

I finally understand what hopelessly, painfully, beautifully loving someone looks like on you.

I wish I didn’t. But I also do.

you called us an old married couple.

Do you remember?

I laughed.

You laughed.

I went home and built a future out of one stupid sentence.

It’s embarrassing now.

How little it took.

A joke.

One joke.

And suddenly I could see us buying groceries.

Arguing over paint colours.

Growing old.

Meeting each other’s parents.

I never told you that.

I thought there would be time.

There always seems to be time until there isn’t.

Now people ask about you.

I never know what to call you.

My friend feels too small.

My ex feels too clinical.

My first love feels unfinished.

How do I explain someone who rearranged the furniture inside my heart and then quietly moved out?

Who are you?

Who am I to you?

No.

Really.

Open your mouth.

Stop protecting me.

Stop protecting yourself.

I’ve survived your silence.

I can survive the truth.

Who was I?

Who am I now?

Don’t tell me “friend.”

That’s what we call each other.

I’m asking about your interior.

What happens inside you when somebody says my name?

Is there still a room I occupy?

Or has someone quietly turned it into storage?

You still hug the doll I gave you.

I don’t know why that destroys me.

Maybe because it’s proof that objects remember what people try not to.

You hold it when you miss her.

You cry into something I chose for you.

You reach for my tenderness while your heart reaches for somebody else.

Explain that to me.

No.

Don’t explain it.

Just tell me what happens inside you.

Who are you holding?

Her?

Me?

The version of yourself before either of us left?

Can love move out and still leave the furniture behind?

Can affection survive after love changes its name?

I don’t know.

I keep thinking about your hands.

How they still remember where the doll is.

How mine still reach for my phone whenever something funny happens.

My body still thinks you could be the first person again.

My mind has to correct it.

Sometimes.

I wonder if your body ever does that with me.

Or has time already finished its work?

That’s what I’m really grieving.

Not her.

Not us.

Time.

Time has been busy.

It has quietly been teaching you how to live in a world where I am no longer the center of anything.

Nothing.

And it has been teaching me how to pretend that doesn’t hurt.

We’re friends now.

I like being your friend.

I hate being your friend.

I love that you trust me.

I hate that you trust me with some grief but not with your truth.

You call me when you’re wanting some numb.

You tell me somethings.

Except the one thing I’ve wanted to know for years.

Who was I?

Why do you still get jealous when I flirt with someone?

Why do you still hug the doll?

Why do you still call me when you’re lonely?

Why don't you tell me about her?

What am I to you now?

What was I then?

Open your mouth.

Please.

I’m so tired.

I’m tired of translating glances.

Of building cathedrals out of half sentences.

Of spending years trying to become fluent in a language we used to speak.

I think the thing that scares me most isn’t that you loved her.

It’s how natural it looks.

How your whole body leans towards her even in her absence.

How love has escaped you and settled into objects.

Paintings.

Photographs.

Beautiful beautiful words.

Songs.

I keep looking for myself among them.

Like someone wandering through a museum trying to find proof they once lived here.

Maybe that’s the real question.

Not…

Did you love me?

But…

When did I stop happening to you?

When did I become someone, you no longer carried home after we said goodbye?

When did my name stop interrupting your day?

When did my absence become ordinary?

I think that’s what indifference is.

Not the opposite of love.

Just…

the day someone no longer occurs to you.

And I don’t know if that’s where we are.

Or if I’m only afraid we are.

Maybe that’s why I keep asking.

Because I don’t want another guess.

I’ve built too much of my life out of guesses already.

So if there is still anything left…

Anything at all…

Open your mouth.

Please.

Before time finishes its work on both of us.

Before indifference reaches me too.

Do the work.

Grieve.

Heal.

But don’t let your numbness become the way you love me.

Find it in your heart to be my friend.

Really be my friend.

Not out of guilt.

Not out of history.

Not because it’s easier than saying goodbye.

But because you’re curious about me again.

Because you care for me again.

Because you and I have chosen to be the bestest of friends again

or new lovers again.

Beyond the flaws of the past and present madness.

Make that choice again. :’)

Looking for a flat / flatmates around Jakkur or Yelahanka area!✨

A little about me:

• Male, working professional in my mid-20s

• Product Designer by profession, part-time Toy Designer

• Clean, organized, easy going and respectful of shared spaces

What I'm looking for:

• Open to a room in an existing flat, a 1RK/1BHK, or teaming up with others to find a place together

• Preferred areas: Jakkur, Yelahanka, or nearby localities

• Budget: ₹15k–20k per person

If you're looking for a flatmate, have a vacancy, or are also planning to house hunt in these areas, feel free to DM me. Hoping to move in by the end of this month :)

Hi everyone,

I'm moving to Jakkur and currently looking for a flat 1bhk /rk or moving in with flatmates by the end of this month. My budget is around 15-20k

About me - I'm a product designer. Clean and quite sociable. Preferably hoping to move in with male flatmates.

Do comment If y'all have any leads and I'll reach out to you.

Thank you 🙂