Why it is Always in Another Life
Maybe we were never meant to last. We were meant to meet just long enough to ruin every version of love that would come after. I keep thinking about that â how something so alive, could still fall apart like it was nothing. Maybe thatâs what this life does to us. It gives, only to take away when we finally start to believe.
I still remember the way you looked at me, like the world finally made sense. And now, I walk through days that donât feel real anymore. I laugh sometimes, I talk to people, I even pretend Iâve moved on. But every silence, every little pause between one breath and the next, I feel itâââthe absence of you. You are like a missing heartbeat that never comes back.
I used to think love meant holding on, but now I know it also means learning to live without. And God, this learning is cruel because no one teaches me how to live with memories, no one tells me how to stop missing someone who doesnât come back.
People tell me everything happens for a reason. I want to ask them what reason could possibly justify loving someone with everything you have and losing them anyway. What reason could make sense of waking up every day and realizing the person you dreamed your whole life with now feels like a story you made up.
So I tell myself what everyone does when love doesnât fit into this lifeâââmaybe in another one. Maybe somewhere the timing isnât wrong, the universe doesnât play cruel jokes. Maybe thereâs a version of us where I donât mess it up, where you donât walk away, where we stay.
In that life, I imagine waking up beside you without the weight of goodbye pressing against my chest. I imagine laughter without fear, love without end dates. I imagine your hand still reaching for mine in crowded rooms. I imagine growing old with you, not just growing apart.
But this life⊠this one only gave me the beginning. It let me taste forever and then ripped it away. And Iâm left here, trying to breathe through the pain, trying to forgive the sky for never being kind to us.
Sometimes I close my eyes and say your name like a prayer that no longer works. Sometimes I still dream of you, and in that dream, you smile like you used to, and everything feels okay again. But morning always comesâââand with it, the truth. The truth that we loved each other in a life that wasnât ready for us.
So yes, maybe in another life, we make it. Maybe there, love doesnât hurt and we finally stay. But here, I carry you like a wound that never healsâââalways bleeding somewhere inside me.
