Some nights, I stare at the ceiling and think —
Did it ever ache for you too?
Even just for a second. Not the full collapse of grief I went through. Not the breathless panic attacks or the 3AM spirals. Just a pause. A small tightening in your chest. Something. Anything.
I hope you felt it too.
Because if you didn't…
If none of it reached you….
Then what the hell was I holding on to?
Was it all just me, alone, playing both parts of a story I thought we were writing together?
I guess what I'm really asking is —
Did you ever miss me?
Even once? Or am I asking for too much?
Did you ever lie awake and scroll through our old chats, just to feel something again?
Did you ever hover over the "type a message" bar and not know what to say, so you said nothing?
Did a song ever come on that made you freeze for a second— just one— because it reminded you of me?
Because on my side, it wasn't just pain.
It was everything.
It was waking up and checking my phone before my eyes were fully open.
It was losing my appetite for days, not eating. But then feeling guilty when and if I finally ate.
It was keeping your contact saved, even when I knew you wouldn't call.
It was hearing your laugh in my head when something funny happened.
It was smiling at a memory, then breaking down two seconds later because you weren't there to relive it with me.
So yeah, maybe that's selfish. Maybe it's stupid.
But I just want to know that I wasn't the only one who bled quietly when it ended.
That it meant something. That I meant something.
Even if just for a while.
I don't need dramatic confessions. Really. Nor do I need a message saying, "I still think about you."
(Though I won't lie, a part of me always hoped for it. I still do!)
I just need to believe that when it ended —something ended for you too.
That you didn't walk away untouched.
That I wasn't the only one who had to teach himself how to live without "us."
I've been rewriting the past a lot lately. Trying to remember it clearly. Trying to figure out where it cracked.
Trying to find a moment where you started slipping away, but I didn't notice.
And honestly, I don't know which hurts more:
The idea that you let go slowly and I didn't see it.
Or the possibility that you never held on the same way to begin with.
Sometimes I wonder if you were just better at hiding the hurt.
Or maybe there was no hurt at all.
But if there was — if your heart ever tightened when you saw something that reminded you of me,
If you ever hovered over my name and hesitated…
Then I hope it comforted you, somehow, to know I was still breaking, long after you left.
Because that means it was real. I was real.
And maybe that's what I'm chasing, in all these chapters.
Not closure. Not healing. Just proof.
Proof that I wasn't delusional for loving you the way I did.
That the silences meant something. That I left a mark. Even a quiet one.
Some days, I think maybe you did feel it too.
Maybe your silence was your version of pain.
Maybe you didn't know how to say goodbye, either.
But then other days, I wonder if you just moved on.
If your heart found a new rhythm before mine even noticed the old one stopped.
Still….
I hope you felt it.
The weight. The loss. The love. The absence.
Even if it was small. Even if it was just for a single moment in the middle of an ordinary day-
I hope it hit you.
The way it hit me. Like something slipping out of your life that you didn't realize you'd miss until it was gone.
Because I still feel it.
And if you did too, even just once…
That's enough.
Or at least, I tell myself it is.
But on the worst nights? That's when I need more.
I need to believe you paused when someone said my name.
I need to believe there was a song you had to skip just because it stung too much.
I need to believe you caught yourself smiling at something we once shared, and then felt that weight settle in your chest.
The kind that doesn't announce itself. Just lingers.
Because if none of that happened…
If I became invisible that easily…
Then I don't know what to do with everything that's still burning quietly inside me.
I'm not asking for a full breakdown. I'm not asking you to fall apart like I did. Never. Oh God! I wouldn't wish that upon even my worst enemies.
But I just… I want to exist.
Somewhere. In your world. In your memory.
Even if it's just in a small corner that you visit when the rest of the day quiets down.
Even if it's only when the lights are off and the city's asleep and you're lying there, staring at the ceiling like I do.
Because I still talk to you in those hours. Everyday.
Still write unsent messages.
Still picture the way you used to say my name when you were annoyed, or the way you laughed mid-sentence when you didn't want to admit you cared.
Some part of me is still waiting.
Not for you to come back.
But for the ache to matter to someone other than me.
Maybe it never will. Maybe that's what this kind of love turns into —
a silent offering you carry alone.
Unwitnessed.
Unreturned.
But if by any chance — if for even one second— you ever stopped and thought,
"I wonder if he still thinks about me…"
The answer is yes.
I do.
I always do. I always will.
Even now.
Especially now.
And maybe one day, you'll feel it too.
Like an old bruise you forgot was there.
Like a voice calling out quietly in the space between your thoughts.
And you'll think of me.
Not with regret.
Not with longing.
Just with that soft, impossible feeling —
"I hope he's okay."
And for that fleeting moment…
I'll matter again.
Even if you never say it out loud.
Even if you never tell anyone.
Even if I'll never know....