Maybe you weren’t made for me
Nor I for you.
But I’d be damn lying
If I think that that’s true.
02 Mei 2026.
Today, the silence feels louder than usual. Maybe it’s because I’ve just finished my nightly routine, and amidst the exhaustion gnawing at my bones, my thoughts drift back to a narrative that was never written — the story of us.
Three years isn’t just a number on the calendar. To me, it’s a long journey across the digital ocean. At first, you were just a cluster of pixels, a string of letters dancing on the cold screen of my phone. Yet, strangely, you became a campfire in the midst of my storm of loneliness. You were a small, sheltered station, where I parked all my weariness, where I traded exhaustion for laughter. I felt I had found a “home,” even though its roof was merely an internet connection and its walls were just the conversations we carefully built.
Once, you were always there in every corner of time, Welcoming me to stop by, listening to all my stories. My exhausting days felt so much lighter, Just with a notification from you bringing peace.But time is the most cunning thief, Busyness began to pull you away, making the distance grow ever wider. You no longer stop by often; this station is starting to feel empty, Your time is no longer mine; you’re slowly drifting away. and I’m still here, holding onto the hope that home will return, Waiting in front of a door that’s now locked tight.
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Then, the universe answered my suspicion in the most honest yet painful way… You lifted the curtain on your world, and there, I saw her. A real person. Someone whose fingers you can touch, whose eyes you can gaze into without a glass partition in the way. She is the real world you’ve been searching for all this time, while I am merely a dream you visit when night falls.
It turns out, you already have a warmer harbor to dock in. A harbor that doesn’t need signals to feel each other.
Funny, isn’t it? This feeling has flourished in the wrong place. I like you, but I’ve locked it away in silence. I won’t ask, I won’t demand an explanation. Let this confession be a letter that was never sent, neatly tucked away in the deepest drawer of my memory.
So, let this platform fade. I choose not to chase after you with belated words of love. Let this feeling remain a secret between me, God, and this story. My love is a sentence that never reaches a period, yet now I must force it to stop with a long pause.
You have found your happiness on the real mainland. And I, I will learn once more to be a steadfast station — even if no trains stop here anymore, even if I must learn to love my own quietness once again.
Thank you “M” for once being a part of a story that never happened.
