It’s just me now. Me and this silence I didn’t ask for, but here it is anyway. I’ve been thinking about how everything used to feel so easy—how we’d just talk, say whatever came to mind, no effort, no hesitation. It’s weird to realize how quiet things get when someone isn’t around to fill the space anymore.
The thing is, it’s not the kind of quiet that feels peaceful. It’s heavier than that, but not crushing. It just sits there, like it’s waiting for me to figure out what to do with it. Sometimes, I wish it would just leave me alone, but other times, I think I’d feel lost without it. At least the quiet is honest.
I keep thinking that love should leave something behind when it’s gone—something more than this vague emptiness. I thought there’d be something solid, something I could point to and say, that was us. But it doesn’t work like that. It just fades, slipping through the cracks before you’ve even noticed. It’s like trying to hold onto sand. You think you have it, and then it’s gone, and all you’re left with are a few grains clinging to your hands.
I catch myself trying to piece together memories of us, but they don’t feel sharp anymore. They’ve softened, the way things do when you stop looking at them too closely. I used to replay our conversations, trying to hold onto every little detail, like they were proof of something real. Now, I can barely remember what we said. The words are still there somewhere, I’m sure, but they feel far away, like they belong to someone else.
And honestly, I don’t even know if I want to hold onto them the way I used to. That’s the part that gets me—realizing I’m not trying to hold on anymore. It’s not that I don’t care, it’s just… exhausting, you know? Carrying around all this weight, all this what could have been. At some point, you just have to put it down.
I always thought endings were supposed to feel bigger, like there’d be some final moment where you just know it’s over. Maybe a fight, or a dramatic goodbye, or at least some kind of closure. But this isn’t like that. It’s quieter. Less about a big goodbye and more about slowly coming to terms with the fact that whatever we had, it’s not coming back.
I don’t even know when it happened. I don’t think there was a single moment where everything fell apart. It was more like little pieces breaking off over time, so slowly that I didn’t notice until there was nothing left. I guess I thought love was stronger than that. That it would fight harder to stick around. I thought love would feel more permanent.
But maybe that’s the thing about love—it doesn’t promise to stay. It shows up when it wants to, leaves when it’s ready, and we’re just left to figure out what to do after. I don’t have the answer. I’m not sure there even is one.
For now, it’s just me and the quiet. And I’m still figuring out how to live with that.
