I miss my love

The rain had returned again this evening, tapping softly against the windows like a forgotten lullaby. I sat curled up by the window, a blanket wrapped around my shoulders and a cup of tea slowly losing its warmth between my hands. The world outside blurred into smudges of grey and silver. Inside, the silence was louder than the storm.

My name is Julia Christa, and tonight, like many nights before, I find myself wandering through memories of you. I wish I could forget the sound of your voice, the way you laughed when I said something silly, or the way your fingers fit perfectly between mine. But forgetting isn’t something the heart agrees to when it has loved deeply.

You were never meant to be just a chapter. You were the story I thought would last forever.

We met in late spring, when the world was blooming and so was I. Your smile felt like the first sunlight after a long winter. I still remember how you looked at me across the café table, your eyes filled with an ease I hadn’t known before. You spoke to me like we had known each other in another life. Perhaps we had. Or maybe I just wanted that to be true.

We didn’t fall in love. We rose into it, slowly, like dawn breaking over the ocean—soft and inevitable.

You used to tell me I made the world feel lighter. But it was you who carried my storms without flinching. In your arms, the chaos of life quieted. When I was with you, I didn’t need to pretend, didn’t need to hide the parts of me I thought no one could understand. You saw them. You stayed anyway.

But nothing gold stays. And neither did we.

I still don’t know when the beginning of the end began. Maybe it was when the silences between us grew longer. Maybe it was the nights we went to sleep facing opposite walls, each lost in thoughts we couldn’t name. Or maybe it was simply time, with its cruel habit of wearing down even the strongest of loves.

The last day we were us is still etched in painful detail. You stood by the door with your bags packed, eyes tired but dry. I wanted to scream, to beg you to stay, to ask why love hadn’t been enough. But I couldn’t find the words. So I just stood there, frozen, as you said goodbye with the kind of softness that breaks a heart more than anger ever could.

You left a silence behind that never truly filled itself in.

Days passed. Then weeks. Then months. Life continued, as it always does, but it never felt whole again. People told me I’d move on. That time heals. But they don’t tell you that sometimes healing means learning to live with the hole someone left behind. It doesn’t close—it just becomes a part of you.

There are still nights when I dream of you. In those dreams, we’re laughing again, walking under trees, our hands intertwined. You look at me the way you used to, and for a moment, I forget. Then I wake up to the cruel truth of absence, and the air feels heavier.

I try not to wonder where you are now. If someone else makes you coffee in the morning. If you found that peace you were always searching for. But on nights like this, when the rain sings sad songs on the glass, I can’t help but wonder if you ever think of me too.

I miss the little things. The way you’d tuck a strand of my hair behind my ear. The way you always knew when I needed quiet rather than comfort. The playlists you made for every part of our lives—each one now a relic I can't bear to play.

But more than anything, I miss the feeling of being known. Truly known. You were the first person who saw all of me and didn’t look away.

Sometimes I write letters to you that I’ll never send. I pour everything into them—what I wish I’d said, what I’ve learned since you left, and how some days I still search for you in crowds. It’s foolish, I know. But grief has its rituals, and this one is mine.

I often wonder what I would say if I saw you again. Would I smile and pretend I’m okay? Or would the weight of everything unsaid come tumbling out like a storm? Maybe I’d simply thank you—for loving me, for breaking me, for teaching me how deeply I could feel.

Because the truth is, even in your absence, you changed me.

I’ve learned that love doesn’t always come with forever. Sometimes it comes with lessons, with heartbreak, with memories that outlive the relationship itself. And even though it hurts, I wouldn’t trade what we had. You were real. We were real.

Tonight, I sit with that truth, even as the ache lingers. I allow myself to miss you, to remember, to mourn what was. Because missing you means you mattered. And I’d rather feel the pain of loss than the emptiness of never having known you at all.

Maybe one day, the memory of you will make me smile more than cry. Maybe the sadness will soften into something gentler. But for now, I let the rain keep me company as I whisper your name into the quiet.

Goodnight, my love. Wherever you are, I hope you found your light.

I’m still searching for mine.