It’s
been over for a long time, yet some memories still strike like a quiet ache.
Not sharp pain, not emptiness, just hollow sense that something beautiful never
truly existed. I heard a song the other day, and for a moment, it felt like
it was written for me. Words about love unnoticed, gestures overlooked,
the tiny things that matter most, they whispered truths I hadn’t wanted to
face.
I
remember searching for signs, hoping for glimpses of care, moments that would
show I mattered. But the truth settled in slowly, like frost creeping across a
window, I never saw a future with you. And yet the sadness isn’t just
about what I lost. It’s about the little things that were never given, the
quiet longing that lingers long after the heart has moved on. Those mornings,
those missed smiles, those unspoken words, they haunt the edges of the memory,
soft and persistent.
It’s
been so long; the ache is still there. Not unbearable, not all-consuming. Just
a hollow note that plays in the quiet, reminding me that some love, no
matter how tenderly wished for, was never meant to be.