But even so, I never stopped loving her. How could I? She was a part of me, etched into the quiet corners of my soul like an indelible mark. Loving her wasn’t a choice; it was an instinct, as natural as breathing. Yet, as time passed, I learned to carry that love differently. It wasn’t the kind that demanded to be fulfilled or returned. Instead, it became a quiet, unspoken truth—a flame that burned steadily, not to warm us together but to light the memories we once shared.
I simply accepted the fact that there would never be an “Us” in this lifetime. The realization didn’t come with anger or bitterness, but with a solemn peace. Some loves aren’t meant to be lived; they’re meant to be felt, cherished from afar, and let go with grace. I loved her deeply, yet I understood that our paths, though intertwined for a moment, were never meant to merge completely. And that’s okay, I tell myself. Loving her taught me more about myself than I ever thought possible. Even without “Us,” the love remained, quietly beautiful in its solitude.
