Jan 7
It’s not the distance that cuts the deepest—
it’s the silence.
The way your presence lingers,
but no longer fills the room.
You slip through my hands like a tide pulling back, leaving behind fragments of a love we once called unbreakable.
Once, I was your everything. I could see it in the way your gaze found me, in the way your words held my fears. But now your eyes drift past mine, your words land hollow, like whispers from a stranger.
When did we stop understanding the silence? When did the space between us grow so wide?
Our conversations are cold now, the warmth lost like the final embers of a forgotten fire.
No “I miss you,” no “How’s your heart today?” Not even a whisper to say, “I’m still here.” Do you notice the quiet? Do you feel the shift? Because I do. Every second, I feel it.
We were once a symphony, every note in perfect harmony. Now, we are static, a broken melody with no bridge to carry us back.
Did I hold too tightly? Or not tightly enough? Am I the one who slipped, or did you let go first?
Am I not enough for you now? Did I lose the part of me you used to love? Have the words run dry, or do we no longer believe in the power they once held?
You feel like a shadow now— near enough to touch, but cold and weightless. And still, being near you feels like coming home. Not the home we built together, but the ruins, a memory of walls that once stood strong.
This distance— it terrifies me. You were my anchor, my constant. Now I am untethered, drifting in an ocean of what-ifs, aching for the shore I can no longer see.
Somewhere along the way, we unraveled. Not in a single moment, but in the quiet, unnoticed spaces we thought wouldn’t matter.
And now, all I can ask is: did you feel it too?
At night, the panic swells, the thought of losing you an unbearable weight on my chest. Am I holding on too tightly? Or have you already let go?
I still want to be her— the girl you once saw, the one who made you believe. But I feel her slipping away, just as I feel myself fading from your eyes.
You’ve done nothing wrong. It’s okay if you need to leave. I can’t ask you to stay. But God, the pain— the pain of letting you go, the ache of still hoping you’ll turn back, that we’ll find our way back to us, back to what we were, even when I know you’re already gone.
You slip through my hands like a tide pulling back, leaving behind fragments of a love we once called unbreakable.
Once, I was your everything. I could see it in the way your gaze found me, in the way your words held my fears. But now your eyes drift past mine, your words land hollow, like whispers from a stranger.
When did we stop understanding the silence? When did the space between us grow so wide?
Our conversations are cold now, the warmth lost like the final embers of a forgotten fire.
No “I miss you,” no “How’s your heart today?” Not even a whisper to say, “I’m still here.” Do you notice the quiet? Do you feel the shift? Because I do. Every second, I feel it.
We were once a symphony, every note in perfect harmony. Now, we are static, a broken melody with no bridge to carry us back.
Did I hold too tightly? Or not tightly enough? Am I the one who slipped, or did you let go first?
Am I not enough for you now? Did I lose the part of me you used to love? Have the words run dry, or do we no longer believe in the power they once held?
You feel like a shadow now— near enough to touch, but cold and weightless. And still, being near you feels like coming home. Not the home we built together, but the ruins, a memory of walls that once stood strong.
This distance— it terrifies me. You were my anchor, my constant. Now I am untethered, drifting in an ocean of what-ifs, aching for the shore I can no longer see.
Somewhere along the way, we unraveled. Not in a single moment, but in the quiet, unnoticed spaces we thought wouldn’t matter.
And now, all I can ask is: did you feel it too?
At night, the panic swells, the thought of losing you an unbearable weight on my chest. Am I holding on too tightly? Or have you already let go?
I still want to be her— the girl you once saw, the one who made you believe. But I feel her slipping away, just as I feel myself fading from your eyes.
You’ve done nothing wrong. It’s okay if you need to leave. I can’t ask you to stay. But God, the pain— the pain of letting you go, the ache of still hoping you’ll turn back, that we’ll find our way back to us, back to what we were, even when I know you’re already gone.
