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I started this letter many times. I wrote, deleted, and rewrote the first line more than I can count. Maybe I was waiting for the right words. Maybe I was waiting for the right moment. But the truth is, the right words never come, and the right moment never arrives. So here I am, writing it anyway.

This letter is for you.

I don’t know if you ever think about me. I still think about you sometimes—especially on quiet nights when the world slows down and I can hear my own heart again. I remember your laugh, the way your eyes lit up when you were excited, the way you always knew how to make things feel okay, even when they weren’t.

We used to say we’d stay in each other’s lives forever. I believed that. But forever came and went quietly, like a sunset you don’t notice until it’s dark.

There was no big fight, no dramatic ending. Just small silences that grew bigger, messages that went unanswered, and distance that somehow felt heavier than miles. I told myself I didn’t care, that people drift apart. But I did care. I cared so much that it hurt.

I blamed you at first. I told myself you stopped trying. I told myself you didn’t miss me. But time has a way of softening anger. Now I see things more clearly. Maybe we both stopped trying. Maybe life just pulled us in different directions. Maybe we did the best we could with what we knew back then.

There are things I wish I had said. I wish I had thanked you—for listening to me when no one else did, for believing in me when I didn’t believe in myself. You made me feel seen. You made me feel like I mattered. That’s not something I’ll ever forget.

I also want to say I’m sorry. Sorry for the times I was cold when I should have been kind. Sorry for making you feel like you weren’t enough. You were enough. You always were. I just couldn’t see it at the time because I was too busy fighting my own battles.

I’ve carried guilt for years. I thought that sending this letter might fix something, but maybe it’s not about fixing anything. Maybe it’s about letting go—of words unsaid, of pain unspoken, of love that never quite found its ending.

Sometimes I wonder how you are now. Do you still listen to the same songs? Do you still take long walks when you’re sad? I hope life has been gentle with you. I hope you’ve found people who make you laugh until you cry. I hope you’ve learned to forgive yourself, the way I’m trying to forgive myself too.

I won’t send this letter. You’ll never read it. But that’s okay. Writing it is enough. Maybe it’s not for you—it’s for me. It’s a way to say goodbye without bitterness. A way to thank the past for shaping me, even when it hurt.

Sometimes love doesn’t end in happily ever after. Sometimes it ends quietly, with two people walking separate paths, carrying memories like small treasures. And that’s okay. Not every story needs a perfect ending to be worth remembering.

So, this is my goodbye—soft, honest, and without blame. Thank you for being part of my story. Thank you for teaching me that love, even when it fades, is still love. And thank you for showing me that sometimes, the most powerful words are the ones we never send.

I’ve stopped waiting for answers, and started writing my own peace. Maybe that’s what love really is — learning to let go without forgetting.