There are things that feel so close, yet were never truly ours to have.

I once saw you as something that would stay. Like an afternoon slowly descending calm, warm, and somehow enough.

Was I like a sunset to you one whose lines of light you never really had the chance to look at closely, already replaced by the night?

Or perhaps I was like the ice cream in your hand, which you thought would remain whole, yet was the easiest to melt, gone before you even noticed.

I often wonder whether I came too soon, or you were simply in too much of a hurry to leave.

Because nothing between us was ever truly finished it only stopped, as if feelings could simply be turned off.

I look at you, and at the same time, I see myself trying to remain composed.

When in truth, inside, I am screaming loud, rough, calling out to something I cannot even name.

There are so many things I want to ask, but never truly say. Not because they do not matter, but because I am beginning to understand that not every answer makes things better.

I am learning to accept the way people come and go, often without a proper explanation. Learning that not everything that feels deep will end in something that can be kept.

Perhaps the hardest part is not letting you go, but accepting that I once believed you were something certain.

And now, what remains is no longer about you, but about how I am slowly learning that not everything that comes into our lives is meant to stay.

Like light falling on the surface of water it appears whole, yet shatters the moment it is touched.

Or footprints in the sand, once there, then gone without ever saying goodbye.

Maybe from the beginning, I was simply standing too long in one direction, believing that everyone who came would choose the same path as I did.

But not every path is meant to remain together.