Unsent Letter — never dated
I don’t even know where to begin.
Maybe that’s why I never wrote you before.
Because how do you explain an ache that never had a name?
It’s been years, but you still live in the softest corners of my mind. Not as a person, exactly — more like a pause.
A what if. A breath I never exhaled.
I still think about that kiss. The only one. It wasn’t even planned. You just looked at me like the moment was asking for it, and then it happened. And I think I spent months trying to convince myself I didn’t feel everything shift in that second.
But I did. You kissed me like you weren’t ready, but some part of you wished you were.
And maybe that’s what haunts me most. Not that you left.
Not even the silence. But the fact that you showed me just enough to keep me wondering what it could’ve been if you had stayed.
Sometimes I imagine a different version of us. One where you didn’t flinch at how much I felt. Where we weren’t both pretending we were fine.
But even in that version, I’m not sure we make it. Because I think I always wanted more than you were willing to give.
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And you were too much of a storm to ever stay in one place.
Still, I miss you in the smallest ways. In songs. In smells. In how I still glance at motorcycles like they might carry ghosts.
And then — there were the things you told me. That you were going through a divorce. That you couldn’t connect with her anymore. That you felt seen, finally, in me. I believed you. God, I wanted to believe you.
But you stayed.
With her.
You stayed with the woman you said was already gone in every way but name. So now I sit here wondering:
Was any of it real? The late-night calls, the way you looked at me, the way your voice softened when you said my name?
Was I just a detour?
A distraction? A story you told yourself while you drifted back to the life you never truly left?
I don’t know what was real. But I know how it felt.
And even now, held by someone who chooses me — there are nights when that old ache returns, whispering that love, when tangled in lies, leaves the deepest kind of scar.
You’ll never read this. But I needed to let it bleed somewhere.
Because the truth is — you made me question everything.
Even the part of me that believed I was worth more than disappearing for and even when I’m held by someone who stayed, there are nights I still ache for the boy who didn’t.
