It's strange, isn't it? How you can feel so shattered over something that was never real, as if mourning the absence of something intangible could weigh heavier than losing what was concrete. There was never an "us," no shared milestones, no relationship to mourn. And yet, here I am, grieving something intangible, like chasing shadows in the dead of night.
How can the absence of something cut so deeply, as though it once had form, flesh, and life? Every night, I wrestle with whispers in my mind questions that spiral endlessly, echoing in the hollow spaces of my chest. Why does it hurt so much to lose something that was never truly mine?
There's nothing to return to, no warm memories to cradle, and no fragments of joy to piece together. And yet, the idea of letting you go feels like ripping out roots that have grown too deep, entwining themselves with my very soul. How can something so insubstantial hold so much power? How can the thought of you weigh so heavily when there's nothing tangible to carry?
The "what ifs" are endless, an unrelenting tide crashing against the fragile walls of my sanity. What if we had tried? What if I had said more, done more? What if you had seen me, truly seen me? There was no "you and me," but the ache of not knowing what could have been feels like the cruelest torment. I am left clutching at ghosts, at the lingering traces of a possibility that was never given a chance to bloom.
Every step forward feels like dragging chains made of emotions that have no foundation. I am tethered to the echoes of a "we" that never was, haunted by memories of something that only existed in my mind. It's almost absurd mourning a love that was never real yet feels so vividly alive, like a phantom limb you can't stop reaching for. How do you let go of something that was never yours to begin with? How do you erase the lines of a story you wrote alone, in the quiet of your heart, hoping one day you'd let me read it to you?
I am trapped in this unwritten narrative, these unsaid words, and these unspent emotions that refuse to fade. It's like being buried alive in the weight of my own longing, gasping for air but finding none. I replay imaginary moments, rehearsing conversations that never happened, clinging to the illusion that they might have mattered. It's pathetic, isn't it? To grieve something that never lived outside the confines of my own heart?
And yet, the pain is real. Because in the end, I'm the only one who feels the loss. I'm the only one carrying the burden of love that you never fought for, the only one who dared to hope for more. I poured my heart into an empty vessel, and now I am left hollow, scraping the edges of my own emptiness for answers that will never come.
You'll never know what you meant to me, and maybe that's the cruelest part. I loved in silence, endured in shadows, and now I grieve alone for something that was nothing, for a love that never even tried to exist. And still, despite it all, I don't know how to let you go. Maybe I never will.