💔 Title: "The Last Message That Never Arrived"

I’ve always believed that true love never ends, but today, as I held my phone empty of her messages, I realized that belief alone isn’t always enough.

She was the first person who taught me what it meant to truly live… and the last person to teach me what it meant to lose everything.

We used to meet every day under that old tree at the edge of the street. She’d laugh softly and say:

"If I ever disappear, know that I loved you more than you can imagine."

I’d laugh and tell her:

"You won’t disappear—you’ve become a part of me."

I wish I had been as honest as my words.

Two years had passed since the first time I saw her, on a day when she held a book and tried to convince herself she wouldn’t get lost in the new city. I approached her and asked:

"Do you get lost often?"

She replied:

"Maybe… but maybe I’m just looking for a reason to delay my arrival."

I didn’t know then that she would delay me from everything… except her.

We talked every day about everything and nothing—about her fear of the future, about my love for silence, about how each of us was trying to survive despite the weariness.

She would always say:

"I’m afraid of losing."

And I would respond:

"And I’m afraid of you leaving."

But perhaps what we fear the most is what always happens.

A month before she left, there was something strange in her voice, as if she was trying to say goodbye without saying it. She laughed more, sent fewer pictures, replied with short words.

I asked:

"Is something wrong?"

She said:

"No… maybe life decided we were only meant to be a temporary chapter in each other’s story."

She laughed as if joking, but her tone was anything but playful.

Two days later, she disappeared.

My messages never reached her, my calls rang unanswered.

I searched everywhere—friends, the café we met at, the park—but nothing.

All she left behind was an unfinished message in our chat:

*"If you only knew how much I love you, maybe…" *

Three dots, and then nothing. And so, I was left with nothing.

Months passed, yet everything about her lingered—the scent of her perfume, her voice whispering "I love you" like a secret, even her silence that hurt more than words ever could.

I tried to forget her. I traveled, met new people, changed my life, but nothing extinguished her memory.

Every time I watched the sunset, I remembered her saying:

"The sky knows our secrets because it sees us telling them to each other."

A week ago, a letter arrived in the mail.

No return address.

Inside, a single piece of paper, with her handwriting:

"I had to leave, but know this: every day I loved you was a day I lived fully. You gave me courage I didn’t know I had. I hope you forgive me for disappearing, but sometimes love is too fragile to survive reality. I will carry you in my heart, always."

Tears blurred the words as I read them. She never explained why she left, never answered the questions that haunted me for months.

But the letter… it was enough to remind me of what I had, even if I lost it forever.

I keep her memory alive, like a photograph tucked in my wallet.

I still walk by that old tree, though it no longer brings her to life.

Sometimes, I talk to the wind and pretend she is there, laughing, telling me that love—though lost—is never truly gone.

The last message never reached me… but in its silence, I found the echo of a love that will never die.