Two timelines and one soft reconnection between the lines
There are things we lost in silence: phones, umbrellas, keys, names. But the most tragic loss is the one we don’t notice at first — ourselves. Or worse, a version of us that only exists when someone specific is around. A version that once laughed louder, dreamed wilder, and felt safer.
This is not a love story or maybe it used to be. Maybe it still is, but I keep telling myself it isn’t.
This is about timing, denial, growing up and growing back into each other. It’s about the long-winded path between “I used to know you” and “Maybe, I still do”. It’s about someone I used to like — maybe still like — but pretend not to. Just to keep the chaos in check.
Lost
We weren’t perfect. Not even close.
We were two people who met during a phase of survival, trying to collect fragments of ourselves, pretending we weren’t breaking. We had exams. We had long messages that always ended with “maybe someday” and then we had silence — years of it.
Sometimes, I think my heart got lost during that gap. Not in dramatic, romantic way? Just misplaced. Set aside while I figured out how to function again.
I didn’t know how to be soft anymore.
I filled weekends with noise — classes, faces, photos, achievements — yet, none of them ever really saw me. I laughed louder, smiled brighter, danced longer, but I always went home with the same ache in my chest.
“Fuck, I’m sorry that we met. I guess it’s just bad timing.”
— Loote (2019)
I’d hear your name and feel this weight — an ache that didn’t hurt, but pressed. Something unfinished. Something I refused to reopen.
You came back with no warning, no apology, just casually existing again in the same digital space, like time hadn’t stretched itself thin between us.
We joked again, I laughed. But quieter this time, more careful. You told me about your growth, how you’re learning to breathe deeper, sleep better, feel again.
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I told you, I was fine — I lied.
“And I wonder if telling the truth might help. That I never climbed back from the place I fell down.”
— Loote (2019)
You asked me if I was okay, I said I was busy. You said you understood — you always did.
I wonder if that’s why I liked you in the first place, maybe still do.
Try Again
The truth is I don’t know what this is.
We’re not trying again. There’s no title, no late-night calls, no promises. But when you showed up, softer and stronger — more you than ever — I didn’t feel anxious. I felt seen. When I cracked a little, you didn’t try to fix me, you just let me speak.
“Why does it feel right every time I let you in? Why does it feel like I can tell you anything?”
— Kpop Demon Hunters Casts (2025)
Maybe the past wasn’t the villain. Maybe we just weren’t ready to be the kind of people who could hold each other properly. Maybe I still don’t know how to be held.
But here’s the twist:
I’m not hoping for a love story.
I’m just relieved we’re back — two old songs finally finding harmony in the present.
And you — your words, your warmth, your stability — have this quiet way of reminding me that not all people leave with pieces. Some bring pieces back.
“You say you’re no good, but you’re good for me.”
— Kpop Demon Hunters Casts (2025)
I’m not healed, but I’m lighter.
Sometimes, we meet people again not to rekindle what was lost, but to remember that we were once capable of feeling deeply. And maybe, if we’re lucky, we can feel it again with the same person, in a different lifetime.
And if I’m really honest — no metaphor, no deflection, just honesty — maybe, I like you again. But I’m scared to admit it. So, I’ll just say:
I’m glad you’re here. Let’s just stay like this for a while.
The funny thing is, I don’t remember the last thing we said before the silence began. But I will remember, how you came back — not loud, not grand, just there. And how you said, “Hey, I missed this.” And I smiled because I missed this too.
This isn’t a confession. This is a “maybe”.
Maybe we lost parts of ourselves back then. But maybe we’re finding each other again — stronger, softer, better.
And maybe, that’s enough, just like this, enough.
