|June 6, 2025|
Title: "The Drink I Never Got to Give You"
Today, I saw you again.
You and her.
It wasn’t planned. I wasn’t prepared. I had even bought you a drink — a small, silly gesture I thought might bridge the silence between us. I don’t know what I was thinking. Maybe I just missed how things used to be. Maybe I hoped you'd smile, say thank you, maybe… just see me again.
But then she appeared, and suddenly I felt invisible. Like I didn’t belong in that moment. Like I was trespassing in a space that once held our conversations, our energy — and now held hers.
So I walked past you both. No drink. No words. No “hey, how are you?” Just silence.
And in that silence, I felt the ache of every memory we ever shared.
You used to message me back. You used to smile when you saw me.
Now we’re strangers. We share a contact list but not a connection. You react to my statuses like we’re still something, but in real life… I’m just a face in the crowd to you.
And I hate that I still hoped today.
I hate that some small, stubborn part of me still believes you’ll wake up and choose me.
That I still want to be chosen — by someone who already made his choice.
I know I should let go.
I know I should stop wondering what I did wrong, or why she was enough when I wasn’t.
But letting go of you feels like letting go of something unfinished, like I’m trying to grieve a story that never even got its ending.
Still… I showed up for myself today.
Even when it hurt.
Even when I had to pretend it didn’t.
And that’s something.
Maybe one day, I’ll stop writing letters you’ll never read.
But for now, I’ll keep pouring my heart out —
not for you,
but for me.
— Me 🤎























