She often found herself thinking back to the days when everything felt uncertain — when her feelings were both a quiet secret and a source of silent ache. But now, as she sat with those memories, there was peace. A gentle understanding of what had been… and what no longer needed to be.
She still carried him — not as a wound, but as something precious.
A part of her, tucked gently away in the corners of her heart where love had once bloomed without asking for anything in return.
It wasn't a love that begged for answers or longed for closure.
It was a love that had simply been. And sometimes, that was enough.
Because he had been more than just a passing moment—
You are my favorite poem,
in every letter, rhythm, line, and word.
Even if the rhymes don't always align,
you remain the most beautiful verse I've ever heard.
From fleeting thoughts and quiet sighs,
you became the ink that never dries.
You brought back life to a forgotten pen,
and made me feel deeply, all over again.
You are the memory I'll never replace—
my first love, wrapped in time and grace.
Though we were never truly near,
I'll keep admiring you, quietly, from here.
She had learned — through slow mornings, long walks, and moonlit prayers — that letting go didn't mean forgetting.
It meant honoring what once was, and learning to live without needing it to last forever.
Some people, she realized, are meant to be felt — not kept.
She still whispered to the night sometimes, asking the stars to watch over him.
Not because she was waiting. Not because she hadn't moved on.
But because some part of her still hoped he was happy, wherever life had taken him.
And in those quiet moments, she understood something deeper:
It was never about him knowing.
Never about the words she couldn't say or the glances he never caught.
It was about the space he had unknowingly filled in her life.
How, without ever realizing it, he had been a light — a gentle warmth that made her feel a little more alive.
The ache was gone now.
In its place: gratitude.
For the lesson.
For the love.
For the quiet strength she found in the aftermath.
She had loved with an open heart. Fiercely. Silently. Truly.
And though he would never know the depth of that love, she had no regrets.
Because sometimes, the purest kind of love is the one that asks for nothing.
The one that simply wishes well, walks away with grace, and keeps the memory like a pressed flower — delicate, unchanged by time.
In the stillness of her heart, she had already said her goodbye.
Not with pain. Not with bitterness.
But with peace.
A farewell laced with hope.
A soft smile to the past.
A quiet prayer for a future that no longer included him —
but would always be shaped by the way he once made her feel.
Goodbye, my once enchanted.