Morning At 7:15am She sent me a snap of Enchanted from Speak Now. A sad song. A song that means something. And just like that, my brain went into a spiral. Is she lonely, just like me? Does she think about me? If she opened her door and saw me standing there, would she even smile? Would she even care?
For a brief moment, hope—stupid, cruel hope—whispered that maybe she wanted to talk. Maybe that snap was a silent message, a sign meant for me. But then? Silence. No reply. No call back. Just the empty weight of realization pressing down on my chest. If she truly wanted me to stay, just a hint, even a single word, would’ve been enough—I would’ve stayed. I would’ve waited. I would’ve been there, day and night, like a fool with nowhere else to be.
But deep down, I know. I know this wasn’t meant for me. It never was. And that truth? It hits like a sledgehammer to the ribs. She’s sad, but not because of me. She misses someone, but not me. Did she fall for someone else? That single thought burns through me like acid, eating away at whatever is left of me.
I feel like a ghost haunting a place I was never welcome in. A beggar at a temple where prayers go unheard. A story she has already finished reading—closed, forgotten, gathering dust while she moves on.