Sometimes, we just smile at the people we once laughed with.
Sometimes we just smile at the people we once laughed with. The weight of the smile holds — a lot of things that need to be said out loud. The distance makes it more haunting.
Watching them from far away and letting the feeling sit inside, knowing words can’t fill the silence between us. The suffocation, the heaviness, the longing — turn into a grave we dig for ourselves.
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Suffocation? The suffocated short breaths when we cross each other. Heaviness? The words we wanted to say out loud. Longing? The longing to never get replaced.
Why? Why do some things not occur twice? Is it because some things are meant to be felt once? Or do the memories never want to haunt us twice?
Maybe it happened so slowly that no one was aware that it had started. The closeness felt stranger, the words became constructed and the time felt limited. And now, the distance teaches us how to exist without them — even when it still hurts to see them.
