You gave up on me. And I like to believe it wasn’t because the love disappeared, but because holding on asked too much of you. It’s hard to grasp, the way you let go of a heart that still beat for you, even after yours had stopped echoing back. I loved you deeply, with an ache that felt almost otherworldly in the quiet moments, rare, once-in-a-lifetime kind of love, the kind that slips away if not held carefully. I loved you in ways that didn’t show in daylight. In the silent sacrifices, the unspoken words, the meals laced with hope. Even when the softness left your eyes. Even when your smiles had to be forced. Even when the distance made your hands forget the feel of my skin. You gave up on me, even when I still saw forever in the outline of you. Even when I still dreamed dreams that had your name folded into every page. I never asked for perfection. I just wanted you to stay. To fight, even when it hurt. To meet me in the thick of the pain, where love could still be stronger than the fear. But maybe love isn’t always enough, especially when one heart stumbles before it reaches the ground. Still, I’ll carry your name quietly in the back of my mind. Not with bitterness. Not with regret. Just with a love that never found its ending.

Happy Mother’s Day to all the incredible women who rise before the sun, not for praise or recognition, but because they know no one else will. This is for the mothers whose names echo only in the quietest rooms, whispered by children too young to understand the weight you carry. This is for the ones who pack lunches, hold jobs, juggle chaos, and wipe away their child’s tears while quietly fighting back their own. Who save their crying for the dark, stretch their last dollar so their children won’t go without, and wear the same coat so their kids can stay warm. To the mothers whose “thank you” comes far too late, if it comes at all. The ones called “nagging” before they’re ever called “wise.” The ones who feel invisible, yet never fail to show up. You love fiercely in silence, showing up again and again, even after heartbreak, exhaustion, or doubt. Today is your day. You are not unseen. You are not forgotten. You are the reason so many of us are still standing, still fighting, still hoping. And today, the world owes you its loudest and most heartfelt thank you.

I once held you so close, like a promise I vowed never to break, something I truly believed even time couldn’t steal. But now, all I feel is the silence stretching between us, and I can’t help but wonder what you’re really thinking. You say you just want to move on, like the love we shared was something disposable. Like I was just a passing moment, easily overwritten by something new. You’ll meet someone else, and he’ll get to see that look I used to dream was mine alone. Just the thought of it twists my gut. I know I won’t forget us, not really, but you’ve already turned our story into something you file away as the past. So I’ll laugh with the guys, play my games, maybe even mention your name like it doesn’t ache,but when the clock hits 3 am., I’ll be wide awake, haunted by questions I no longer have the right to ask. He’ll buy you a drink. You’ll smile, maybe even laugh like you used to at my jokes, and in that small act, I’ll start to disappear, washed away, bit by bit. I don’t think I could ever fill the space you left with someone else’s name. I can’t blame you for trying to move on. But, it hurts knowing you might be doing just fine while I’m still here, burning in the wreckage of what we used to be.

I’ve been staring at the man in the mirror, not with anger, but with something closer to grief. Not the loud kind, but the quiet, lingering sort, the kind that no longer cries, yet never leaves. It sits at your bedside for years, silent and familiar. He looks like me, almost exactly. But something’s off, as if he’s a half-truth wearing a borrowed shadow. His eyes still carry the questions I gave up on long ago. What did you do with the boy I used to be? That boy’s purpose was soft, like a butterfly’s kiss. His hands, once open to the world, now curl into fists. His dreams stretched wide as the sky, yours are buried in the wasteland you call a life. You worked hard to speak in a calmer tone, to convince yourself this cage was a home. You claimed strength, mistaking numbness for power, then wondered why it felt so hollow. And now, even with scars sealed shut and time dulling the sting, I still feel the ache. I still find myself under those same stars, catching glimpses of the boy I once was,a flicker, a choice not yet forgotten. I won’t hate you, though it would be easier. Hate is clean. But this? This is tangled. It’s a love, fraying at the edges, nearly torn by everything you lost trying to make amends. So I look again. Even if just for a second, catching that faint burn behind your eyes. It’s not bright. It’s not pure. But it’s real. And it’s still mine. And that, I think, is enough, for something new to grow.

Real love doesn’t disappear, it settles. It sinks into the soft earth beneath our memories, nestling into the hidden folds of life where even time can’t quite reach. Silence may reshape it, soften its edges, but it never truly leaves. It lingers in a fleeting glance through a crowd, in a quiet song playing in an empty room, in dreams that stretch beyond the morning light. I know I have to go now, the lines have already been drawn across the stars. So I’m trying to follow them without questioning the path. Still, if the universe is kind, if fate forgets to lock the door, then maybe, just maybe, there’s still a chance we could find our way back to each other.

I swore I’d keep my distance, but the thoughts refuse to stay quiet. On nights that stretch too still, I drift back to the places your shadow used to linger. A flicker in the corner of my screen, just pixels, yet they haunt me like something I once held close. I follow the traces that lead to you. Are they breadcrumbs you’ve left behind or traps? Either way, I follow, hoping they’ll guide me back to your path. Your status changes, and I read it like scripture, searching for echoes of the space I used to fill. There are windows left open that you once ensured shut. Maybe by accident. Maybe not. Maybe for me. A recently played song, a watched video, a game you spent your free time on, small offerings that I gather and tuck away like sacred fuel. And if you catch sight of me, just a ghost in the rafters, I hope you won’t turn away. I hope, even now, you’ll leave a light on for me.

A flower is found, its color dimming beneath the vanishing sun. Its petals curl gently, fragile beneath even the softest touch, too weary to resist. I cradle it between my fingers, its stem still standing tall. Like a lover, I tug, asking the wind if my thoughts are true. A petal falls. She loves me. A whisper of grace. My fingers trace the memories we’ve shared, her laughter filling my air, her eyes piercing into my soul, that tender look she reserves for the one she’s chosen. Another tug. She loves me not. The air turns colder against my skin. Silence swells, heavier than our arguments. There’s no fury left, only distance growing wider. She loves me. A faint flicker of hope stirs inside me, a light too dim to break the dark. Yet her voice echoes in my mind, looping endlessly. She loves me not. The petal crumbles beneath my careless touch, and something deep within me aches. There is no grand finale, no clean ending, just the quiet drift into empty space, nothing solid to grasp. She still loves me. I speak it aloud, a half-truth dressed as a prayer. Maybe if I say it, it will become real. Maybe if I bend it just right, it will last a little longer. She loves me not. The final petal, once strong, lets go. It flutters down, brushing the earth as if to kiss away its own wounds. I lie back, my head in the grass before night fully falls, fingers stained with the remnants of love and rust. The flower is gone now, and only one question remains: Why is it that hearts can stop, yet still ache on?