There are feelings that have no name—only quietly exist in the heart like a wound that hasn’t healed. I miss you. I miss the peaceful days, the gentle hugs, the gaze that made me believe the world still held something magical. I want to go back. I want to say I’m sorry, to ask how you are, to tell you I still care. But I don’t dare.
Not because I’ve stopped loving you. But because I’m afraid. Afraid you’ve forgotten. Afraid you’ve found peace without me. Afraid that if I step forward, I’ll disrupt what you’ve built. I’m afraid of rejection, of being seen as weak, of realizing that my feelings are just a memory to you now.
It’s a conflicted feeling. My heart urges me forward, but my mind holds me back. I stand between two shores: one of hope, one of fear. And I choose silence. Not because I don’t want to return, but because I don’t have the courage.
But if you knew—if you felt even a part of what’s written here—I just want to say: I’ve never forgotten. And if one day, you want to come back too, I’m still here. Still me, with a heart that never stopped loving.
