She sent me a snap today. Just a song—Small Things. No words, no emojis, just the music.
At first, my heart leaped. Why this song? It’s about love, about missing someone, about those little things that stay long after a person is gone. Was this a message? A silent way of saying she still thinks about me?
My mind went into overdrive. I imagined her sitting alone, lost in thought, listening to the song on repeat. Maybe she was feeling the same emptiness I do. Maybe she wanted me to reach out, to remind her I’m still here. Should I call? Should I text? What if she’s waiting for me to make the first move?
But then, a cold reality settled in.
Last month, I called her. No reply. No call back. Just silence. A silence so loud it still rings in my ears. If she wanted to talk, she would have. If she wanted me, she wouldn’t make me guess.
Still, my brain refused to accept it. What if she’s just scared? What if she’s waiting for me to try again? What if this song is her way of reaching out without really reaching out?
I stared at my phone, my fingers hovering over her name. Call her. Just call her once.
But I didn’t. I couldn’t.
Because deep down, I know—this isn’t for me. The song, the feelings, whatever she’s going through… it’s not about me. I’m just a fool, exhausting myself, draining every ounce of my energy by overthinking, by dreaming about things that don’t exist.
It’s killing me. Slowly, painfully. Like watching a fire burn out while pretending it’s still warm.