The Apology I Never Got

Dear you,

We were a fairytale.

The kind that starts with a soft laugh and ends with silence.

The way we met — it felt like the universe paused, just for a moment, to introduce us.

I knew.

From the second I laid eyes on you, I knew you’d ruin me.

But that was a risk I welcomed, arms wide open. I wanted the fall.

From the first “hello,” I felt the ending before the beginning had even taken its first breath.

You became a storm I called home.

And even when it hurt, I stayed.

Even when your words cut deeper than silence, I listened.

Even when you disappeared in the ways that mattered most, I waited.

Years have passed. And still, some days, you’re there — a shadow in the quiet.

You ruined me in ways I still don’t fully understand.

You broke things in me I didn’t know could shatter.

And you never said sorry.

Not once.

But here’s the part I never expected to write:

I forgive you.

Not because you earned it. Not because you asked for it.

But because I owe myself peace.

Because carrying your weight became heavier than losing you.

So I lay it down.

Not for you — for me.

And though I no longer need your apology,

a part of me still wonders…

Do you miss me?

Even for a moment?

Even in silence?

That’s the part I’ll never know.

And maybe that’s okay.

— Me