To: You
These are the things I still carry, words I never got to say to you.
It’s 6:00 AM
the world is still, but my chest is not.
No “good morning" to greet me,
no sleepy voice on the other end of the screen,
just my phone, blank and cold beside my pillow.
I miss how you made even waking up feel warm.
You were the sun before the sky turned gold.
Now, I just stare at the light creeping through the blinds,
waiting for a message I know won’t come.
By 8:00 AM, you’d be rushing out the door,
hair tied in a hurry, bag half-zipped, still beautiful somehow.
I’d still be in bed, squinting at your selfie.
“Fix that ponytail before class,” I’d tease.
You’d reply with three rolling eyes and a heart.
We didn’t say much, but every word felt like home.
Some mornings you stayed in while I left,
we were always trading places with time.
Then at 10:00 AM, you’d sneak your phone out in class.
“Prof’s rambling again,” you'd say,
with a blurry shot of a whiteboard and your shoes.
Sometimes I’d send a dumb meme or a voice note of me humming your favorite song.
You’d say, “Stop. You're gonna make me laugh.”
And somehow, laughter felt like love.
Even in moments so small,
you had a way of making them feel full.
Get JIN’s stories in your inbox
Join Medium for free to get updates from this writer.
At 12:00 noon, you’d show off your McDonald’s fries like a trophy,
“Jealous?” you’d ask, mouth full, eyes smug in the photo.
I’d send back my burger—half-eaten, all pride
and argue that your fries were soggy.
We’d bicker over Coke vs. Sprite,
like kids with too much time and too much love.
Sometimes, we’d plan imaginary lunch dates,
both knowing we couldn’t meet,
but dreaming made it taste better.
Come 3:00 PM, the lull would hit.
You’d be stuck in class, scribbling notes,
sending me a “bored 🥱” with a photo of your desk.
And I’d pretend to be your savior,
flooding your inbox with jokes or “What if” questions like:
What if we were in the same class?
What if this wasn’t all on screens?
You’d always say, “Don’t make me wish harder.”
I didn’t know then how much I would.
By 7:00 PM, we were tired but still talking.
Calls that started with “Hey, did you eat?”
and drifted into solving accounting problems together.
Debits, credits, and confusion
you’d get frustrated, I’d laugh,
and somehow we’d always figure it out.
Sometimes you’d say,
“If only real life was this easy to balance.”
And I’d go quiet, because I knew
we were never going to be that simple.
It’s 10:00 PM now,
and I still look at the time like I used to.
You’d always pretend to be sleepy by then,
“Just five more minutes,” you'd whisper.
Then it would stretch into hours,
talking about dreams, fears, the shape of tomorrow.
Your voice was the last thing I heard most nights,
like a lullaby with no end.
“I miss you already,” you’d say.
God, I didn’t know how much those words would stay.
But now it’s just me.
Staring at clocks that don’t bring you back.
Scrolling through old chats I can’t delete.
Typing your name, then backspacing it.
Hoping the universe might glitch, just once.
Can we do it all again?
Can we rewind to those quiet miracles?
To fries and accounting calls,
to sleepy 6 AMs and laughing in the middle of class?
I know the answer.
And I know you won’t reply.
But God, I miss those days.
And even if they’re gone,
even if you are—
I’ll carry them.
Like a scar that still aches in the rain.
Like a prayer I whisper to a silence
that never answers.
But somehow, I still whisper it.
