You once told me about a girl who came before me, who professed her love for you—a declaration you dismissed. You were engulfed by the sheer weight of those words. I should have recognized that as a warning sign—a glimpse into my own destiny. An overshadowing of my own fate. Looking back, I wish I had dared to ask you, “Will I meet the same fate if I open my heart to you?” Had I known, I could have steeled myself for the impending heartbreak. I should have seen that you are the type to flee when vulnerability beckons, leaving nothing but echoes of unspoken words.

And when I declared my love for you, you never took the time to reply, to share whether it stirred something within you or if you felt even a flicker of the same fire? Why do I continue to bare my soul to those who respond with nothing but an unbearable silence?

You ignited a flame within me, making me believe that I am worth every marvelous thing you could ever offer. Yet, the heartbreaking truth is that you never did anything out of everything you said. Or was it because I never let you? Indeed, I find myself ensnared in the past, like a broken VHS tape endlessly replaying the same haunting scene, yearning for a different ending.

Like a haunting spirit, your name lingers in the depths of my soul. I longed to release your image from my heart, but my curse is the vivid recall of every face, even those of fleeting strangers. You were a stranger I was destined to encounter, and now, I lament the fateful moment we crossed paths. Though I once declared I should have never met you, my heart fervently cries out in desperation, “I miss you. Come back to me.”

Is your role in my life really over? Have you really taught me the lessons I need to know? Because why do I feel like it’s not yet over? Why can’t it be that you teach me lessons I need to know for the rest of my life? Together?

I still miss you. I think I will miss you for the rest of my life.