To You ,
To You, The almost, the always, the never.
I don’t know if you’ll ever read this —maybe that’s why I’m brave enough to write it. Because if these words were a door, I’d never have the courage to knock.
But you were a storm that didn’t just pass through me —you stayed. In the cracks of my ribs, in the softest parts I tried to harden, in the echo of silence where your voice used to live.
What we had —whatever this was —wasn’t simple. It never wore the right name, never had the timing, but it carved itself into me like it was meant to stay.
And maybe I loved you more in the waiting than I ever could in the having. Maybe that’s the tragedy. Or maybe that’s the whole point —to feel something so deeply it rearranges your soul, even if it never stands beside you in the end.
So, this book isn’t revenge. It’s not closure. It’s the scream I never let out. The goodbye I whispered a thousand times in silence. The truth that burned beneath my tongue. And the love —the stupid, reckless, dangerous love —that still won’t die quietly.
If nothing else, I hope you feel the weight of this. Not because you deserve it —but because I do.
Always almost yours,
Me
