What, why?
I used to believe love was forever.
Not the dramatic kind you see in movies — but the quiet, steady kind. The kind that felt like home. The kind that made you believe the future was already written.
And in my heart, it was written with his name.
Adam.
It has been seven years since the last time I saw him. Seven years since his voice faded from my daily life. Seven years since I learned how to smile again without breaking.
Yet some nights, when the world grows silent and my heart grows honest, I still remember the way he looked at me — as if I was the only person who ever mattered.
We were young. Too young, maybe. Too hopeful. Too certain.
We made promises we thought we could keep.
“I’ll never leave,” he once whispered, his forehead resting against mine.
“Neither will I,” I replied, believing every word.
But love doesn’t always end because it disappears.
Sometimes, it ends because life gets in the way.
Because pride speaks louder than truth. Because fear wins. Because timing betrays two hearts that weren’t ready.
The last day I saw him, the sky was heavy with rain.
He stood in front of me, eyes tired, voice shaking — and I knew something was wrong before he even spoke
“I have to go,” he said quietly.
Go.
Such a small word. Yet it shattered everything.
I wanted to ask him to stay. I wanted to fight. To beg. To scream. But my pride built a wall faster than my heart could react.
“If you leave,” I said, forcing my voice to stay calm,
“don’t ever come back.”
The hurt in his eyes almost broke me. But he left anyway. And I let him.
Now, years later, I tell myself I’ve moved on. I built a life. A career. A routine. I learned how to survive without the love I once thought I couldn’t live without.
Still… some loves don’t fade. They just wait. Quietly. Patiently.
Like a question the heart never stops asking.
What about now?
