You

I don’t know if these words will ever find their way to you. I doubt it. But I have to write them. Because carrying this inside me feels like drowning in silence. And I can't take it anymore.

You're not even mine — you never were — and still, you’ve managed to ruin me in ways I can’t explain. I’m shattered. My peace is gone. My mind’s in pieces. My heart? Unrecognizable.

I just want to be free. Free of you. From my thoughts, from my chest, from the heavy fog you leave behind. All I’ve ever asked the universe is: let me breathe again.

It started with your eyes. Those eyes — god, those eyes — swallowed me whole. From the very first glance, I was done. Destroyed by a look that knew nothing of what it was doing to me.

Then came your voice. Your scent. That maddening way your hair falls when it’s messy, like chaos dressed in silk. You were beauty I couldn’t touch. A presence that made the air itself addictive.

And your personality? Like a mirror of my shadow — the perfect opposite of me. Everything I’m not. And maybe everything I’ve always been looking for.

It became a kind of madness. Limerence, obsession, longing… An addiction without the drug. You never gave me anything, and yet I’m trying to survive the withdrawal of you.

The worst part? You’ll probably never know what you meant to me. You’ll leave, and I’ll remain with ghosts — haunted by a possibility that never came to life. A story that ended before it began.

But maybe that’s how it’s meant to be. Some people come not to stay — but to tear open something we forgot we had. To remind us what it feels like to want so deeply that it burns.

So here it is: Goodbye. Not because I want to, but because I have to.