Unsent Echoes

Some moments are quiet reflections in time that stretch like shadows, timeless yet enigmatic. It’s quite strange how often I’ve thought of her, not with sharp, aching, loud bursts as would come with tragedy, but interspersed with calm murmurs of remembrance that comfortingly sneak in during the in-between hours: the intervals between meetings, the cough of silence that follows delight, and the stillness right before slumber.

I haven’t texted her again.

That sentence lingers in me like a boulder. Not because I desperately wanted to — God knows I did. It amazes me how I used to plan the texts, be it at two in the morning, or in the middle of the afternoon, even when her memory barged into my life uninvited. I would type them painstakingly slow, with great care, as if I was fashioning something fragile:

"Hey, I was just thinking about you."

“Do you still smile when it rains?”

"I miss you."

Every single message seemed to unfurl a window of opportunity. With every single one of them, I would always be a moment away from the send button with a heart overflowing with both excitement and trepidation — but for whatever reason, I could never go through with it.

There were times that I would input her name into my phone and meticulously scroll through photos as a wave of nostalgia began washing over me. Using my left thumb, I could press down on the call button and put it on speaker for my right to capture those precious minutes. I would feel the noise and my pulse rising as if she would pickup and laugh like the good old days. Only for the silence to become readily accessible after, but, them would always have it leave without the thick weight it brings.

I didn’t keep quiet because I no longer cared. No, I remained quiet because caring too much is the problem. Some words, once left unuttered for too long, become irrelevant. “I miss you” makes more sense when muttered years too late.

We drifted apart gradually over time. No big fight. Nobody said their goodbyes. No, this was a favorite song you slowly stop listening to. By the time I noticed, she was already a part of a new life I had to unfortunately adjust to.

Sometimes I caught glimpses of her life through photos shared by mutual friends or occasionally mentioned in casual conversation. She was smiling more and seemed much happier, and for her well-being, I was truly happy. The rub is, optimism does not cancel out pain.

If I had the chance to see her one more time, I know exactly what I would say. This is not an apology because quite frankly, “I'm sorry” doesn't even begin to cover it.

“I could never stop thinking about you.”

What difference would it have made? She had long moved on and I, like it or not, had to learn how to cope with the weight of every unsaid word while trying not to drown myself in it.

I have not messaged her moreover I have not called her, and left no means of contacting her.

This does not suggest I did not daydream over and over again.

Thoughts such as what her response would have been if she answered the phone or if I turn the knob to the door I closed and walk through, if it would be able let me in if I could enter again played in my head a number of times.

There are doors that cannot be powerfully struck again and again after being closed.

That is not an issue for me as far as I am concerned because the only thing dispersed is memories.

In some instances, standing with closed gaps in my mind tending to memories is satisfying enough.