I never told you.
Not because it wasn't real, but because I was afraid it was.
You weren't mine, not officially-not in the way people mean when they say "mine." There were no kisses, no dates, no dramatic declarations under the stars. but there was something.
Something in the way our eyes held each other a beat too long. Something in the way your name felt like home in my mouth.
we danced around it for months-maybe years. that unspoken thing between us.
A tension so quiet we could've denied it.
So loud, it filled every room we were in together.
You were always just close enough to hope for, but never close enough to reach.
I remember one evening-just a regular, tired Tuesday. You were sitting beside me, talking about someone else.
Someone you liked. Someone who wasn't me. I nodded. I smiled. I even gave advice I didn't mean. And the whole time, I felt my chest folding in on itself. Like grief, but slower. Like being erased while you're still alive.
It wasn't that I couldn't tell you how I felt. It's that I didn't want to risk the silence that might follow.
You were too important to lose. Even as a maybe.
we weren't lovers. But you knew me in ways most people didn't. You remembered the way I take my tea. You noticed when I was quiet, even when everyone else thought I was fine. You asks questions no one else dared to. I trusted you with versions of my self I hadn't even learned how to explain yet.
And I think you knew. I really do.
Not in the way of fairy tale stories or Netflix scripts. But in the real, aching way. The way people know when the shared something more than friendship, but neither is brave enough to name it.
Sometimes I wonder if you were waiting for me to speak first. If maybe I wasn't the only one afraid of ruining what we had. Maybe you were scared too-that naming it would destroy it.
so we kept it quiet. Platonic.
And then...we drifted.
Not suddenly. Not all at once. But slowly, in the way people do when they start building lives that longer overlap. We stopped calling "just to talk". Our messages became shorter, our laughter less frequent. Life got louder, and we got quieter.
The space between us grew, but I never stopped thinking about you.
There are nights I still do. I wonder where you are. Who holds your hand now. Whether someone else gets to see that soft, sleepy side of you-the version of you I used to see when the world shut down for the night and it was just us and our unspoken truths.
I don't hate you. How could I? You were never cruel. Just... careful. Too careful.
We were both so scared of getting hurt that we never gave ourselves a chance to be loved.
Maybe that's the saddest part. That we had something real and let it slip away, not because it wasn't worth it, but because we were too afraid to try.
I write this not to blame you. Or even to blame myself. But to admit it-finally. That I loved you. In my quiet way. In the way I waited for your name to pop up on my screen. In the way I memorized your stories. In the way my chest tighten when you smile at someone else.
It was love. Just unspoken.
And now, I'm learning to let it go.
Not because it wasn't beautiful, but because it never had a chance to be more than maybe.
You were the almost that taught me what I want. What I need. What I deserve. You showed me that love can be soft and slow and still burn bright. But you also showed me that love need courage. And that without it, even the brightest sparks fade.
Some days I hated how much I loved you. Other days, I hated myself for not telling you sooner.
There were moments when I thought, "Maybe this is the day we stop pretending". And yet, nothing ever changed. We let the moment pass again and again, until it passed us completely.
If I could go back, I still don't know if I'd tell you. I wish I were the kind of person who would say, "I love you" even if it meant losing you. But maybe I'm not. And maybe that's okay too.
We carry certain people with us forever, not in the obvious way. Not in the shared last names or photo albums, but in the way certain songs ache a little more. In the way we look for faces that resemble theirs in every crowd, in the way we still check their social media long after the conversation has ended.
You were never mine.
But for a while, it felt like you could have been, and that feeling-that possibility-was enough to leave a mark.
A mark so strong to forget in a shot time.
So this is saying goodbye. Not because I stopped caring, but because I have to stop hoping. You've become a memory I visit too often, a daydream that's started to blur into reality.
And I need to come back myself.
To choose someone who chooses me, fully, out loud, and without hesitation. Someone who doesn't just stand close-but takes the step forward and says, "It's always been you".
I hope you are loved, wherever you are. Truly.
I hope someone sees the quiet magic in you and never flinches.
And I hope you think of me sometimes-not with regret, but with warmth.
Because no matter how far we drift, you'll always be a chapter I'll never regret writing-even if you were the love I never got to call mine.
Goodbye.
With all the love I never had the courage to say which had hurt me over the time.
With all the ache and tension the heart had suffered from.
-Me