Notes I never meant to share.
“Pretty name.”
“I wouldn’t want to forget it.”
That’s what you said.
It’s funny now, in a bitter kind of way.
Because you did forget it.
Or maybe you didn’t—but you chose to act like you did.
That’s just as bad.
I don’t know.
It’s been days. Weeks.
And I can’t keep holding on, even if I want to.
I could twist this in my head a thousand ways.
I could wonder if that day you sent me that first message, you sent it to other people too.
I could ask myself why my disappearance for three days was enough to make you vanish for good, as if that’s all it took for you to stop caring.
Or maybe you never did.
Maybe I never mattered enough for you to even try
to understand my reasons. (I gave them to you—
but it’s fine. I get it. You had to protect your feelings.)
And still… I wonder what would’ve happened
if I hadn’t replied to your message.
You know I almost didn’t.
But here we are.
Or… not anymore.
Too late.