When She Closed the Door: A Love I Can’t Outrun

They say time heals all wounds. I used to believe that. I used to think pain fades with days, weeks, months… but it’s been so long now, and the pain hasn’t gone anywhere. If anything, it’s grown roots in my chest, wrapping tighter every time I think of her — which is every single day.

I loved her. No — I still love her. I think I always will. She was the kind of person you meet once in a lifetime, the kind you never thought could exist outside of a dream. She wasn’t perfect — no one is — but to me, she was everything. Her laugh had a way of making the rest of the world go quiet. Her voice was the only thing I wanted to hear when the day felt too heavy. And her eyes… her eyes were the kind of place you could get lost in and never want to be found.

We weren’t just lovers; we were best friends. We shared secrets no one else knew, little inside jokes that could make us laugh in the most serious moments. She told me I made her feel safe. I told her she was my home. And for a while, I truly thought we had forever.

Then one day… she was gone.

No fight. No warning. No slow drifting apart. Just gone. She blocked me everywhere — my calls didn’t go through, my messages never got delivered. Her social media vanished from my feed like she had been erased from the world. Except she wasn’t erased. She was still out there, somewhere… just not with me.

I remember the first night after it happened. I sat in my room with my phone in my hand, staring at our old conversations, scrolling back to the very first “hello.” I read every word, every silly emoji, every “good morning” and “goodnight” like they were love letters. And then the tears came. I didn’t even realize I was crying until I felt the wetness on my shirt.

That night turned into many nights. Now, every evening is the same — I lie in bed, headphones in, playing the songs we used to listen to together. I close my eyes and imagine her lying beside me, humming along. But when the song ends, I open my eyes to the empty room, and the silence hits me harder than the music ever could.

People tell me to “move on,” like it’s as simple as flipping a switch. They don’t understand. Moving on isn’t forgetting someone. It isn’t pretending they didn’t matter. For me, moving on would mean erasing a part of myself, because she was a part of me. She still is.

Sometimes I wonder if I did something wrong. Did I say something? Did I not say enough? Was there someone else? The worst part is not knowing. If she had told me it was over, if she had given me even one reason, maybe I could have started to accept it. But this… this is like being stuck in the middle of a book with no ending.

There are moments in the day when I almost forget. I’ll be busy with work, laughing with someone, or lost in some task — and then a small thing will bring her back. A song playing in a café. A perfume on a passing stranger. The way the sunlight falls through a window, exactly like it did on the day we sat together at that park. Suddenly, I’m right back where I started, and my chest feels heavy again.

I’ve tried writing her a letter, even though I’ll never send it. The words poured out of me — everything I wish I could tell her. I wrote about the dreams we shared, the plans we made, and how I still believe she’s the most beautiful thing that ever happened to me. I told her I hope she’s happy, even if it’s not with me. And at the very end, I wrote the one truth that’s been living inside me since the day she left: I miss you. I love you. I’m sorry for whatever made you go.

Some nights I imagine running into her by accident — maybe at a grocery store, maybe on some random street. I imagine her looking at me with those eyes again, and for a moment, the world would feel whole. But then reality sets in. She’s not coming back.

They say heartbreak is a kind of grief, and I believe that. Except this is worse in some ways, because she’s still out there, alive, just living without me. I can’t visit a grave or find closure. I can only live with the ghost of what we had.

I wish I could say I’m healing, but that would be a lie. Some nights, the pain is so sharp it feels physical — like a hand squeezing my heart. I think about her until my eyes blur with tears. And when I finally fall asleep, I see her in my dreams… only to wake up and lose her all over again.

This is my truth: I loved a girl. She left without a word. And no matter how many sunsets pass, no matter how many songs I play or how many people tell me to let go… I can’t. She’s the first thought in my morning, the last before I sleep, and every quiet moment in between.

Maybe one day I’ll stop waiting for her. But today is not that day. And tomorrow probably won’t be either.

Because when someone you love becomes a part of you… you can lose them from your life, but never from your heart.