We Stopped Talking… But I Still Wait for His Text

It’s been 47 days since we last spoke. I remember the number clearly, not because I try to—but because my heart does. Every morning, I wake up and check my phone. I know it’s silly. I know he won’t text. But I still look. Every single day.

We never had a proper ending. No big fight, no goodbye. Just slow silence. It started with shorter replies. Then “seen” with no answer. And now, nothing. A part of me still wonders how two people who used to talk every day can suddenly become strangers.

I miss the little things. The way he used to ask if I ate, or send me photos of his lunch, even if it looked awful. The way he used to say “call me when you’re free,” even when he was the one busy. The small stuff—that’s what hurts the most. You never realize how loud silence can be until the person you always talked to disappears.

I tell my friends I’m okay. I laugh, I go out, I post stories like nothing’s wrong. But late at night, when it’s quiet, I feel it. That heavy feeling. Like something is missing—but no one around me can see it.

Sometimes, I scroll back to our old chats. I know I shouldn’t, but I do. I see the heart emojis, the good mornings, the "you made my day" messages. And I wonder—did he ever mean them? Or was I the only one who felt that way?

What hurts most is not knowing why. There was no clear reason, no explanation. Just a slow fade. I think that’s what keeps me stuck—waiting. Hoping maybe he’ll come back with a reason. Maybe he’ll say, “Sorry, I was going through something.” Maybe… he still thinks about me too.

Some days, I try to distract myself. I go on walks. I read. I even started journaling again. But no matter what I do, there’s always this space in my heart that feels cold. I don’t think I miss him only—I miss who I was with him. Happy, excited, hopeful.

I tried texting him once. Just a simple, “Hey, hope you’re okay.” He didn’t reply. He read it, though. I saw the two blue ticks. That hurt more than anything. He saw me reaching out—and still stayed silent.

A few weeks ago, I saw his name pop up in my dreams. It was so real. We were laughing, holding hands, talking like nothing ever changed. I woke up with a smile—and then remembered. He’s not here. Not anymore.

I sometimes ask myself if I was the problem. Was I too clingy? Too soft? Did I expect too much from someone who wasn’t ready? Maybe. But should caring deeply be a bad thing? Should loving someone honestly make me feel like I did something wrong?

We used to talk about the future. Places we’d go, movies we’d watch, a dog we’d name together. We never got to do any of that. Now I sit in the park alone, watching couples laugh, and wonder how they make it look so easy.

I’ve learned something important, though. Even when someone leaves without warning, you can still find strength inside yourself. I’ve started doing things for me. Watching my favorite shows. Taking long walks with music in my ears. Writing little notes to myself like, “You’re doing okay.”

Because I am doing okay. Not great, not perfect—but okay. And that’s enough for now.

I still wait for his text sometimes. Maybe out of habit. Maybe out of hope. But I don’t pause my life anymore. If he texts, fine. If not, I’ll still keep moving.

One day, someone will choose me without making me doubt myself. Someone will stay. Until then, I’ll choose myself—every morning, every night, even on the hard days.

This is my quiet heartbreak. No loud tears, no drama. Just a slow, silent healing that no one sees—but I feel, every single day.