Strangers Made From Love.

“My Love, We Became Strangers.”

There are certain stories the heart writes

long before the mind learns how to understand them.

Stories made from stolen glances,

restless nights,

unspoken feelings,

and the soft ache of loving someone

who doesn’t stay.

This…

this is one of those stories.

My love,

we began like a whisper—

gentle, quiet, almost fragile,

as if the world would break us

if it heard our heartbeat too loudly.

You were the unexpected warmth

in my winter,

the soft laughter in my silence,

the one person who felt like home

when nothing else did.

I didn’t know then

that even homes can burn.

I remember those early days—

how we talked like time belonged to us,

how we dreamed like nothing could touch us,

how we held each other

as if tomorrow was promised.

And maybe that’s the saddest part:

we believed it.

We believed in a forever

that wasn’t meant for us.

But life has a strange way

of turning the closest hearts

into distant memories.

People don’t always leave with one big goodbye;

sometimes they leave

one small silence at a time.

My love,

you didn’t disappear all at once.

You faded.

You slipped away

through conversations that got shorter,

through hugs that lost their warmth,

through eyes that stopped searching for mine.

I kept holding on,

thinking maybe love was just tired,

not dying.

Maybe we were just lost,

not breaking.

Maybe you still belonged to me,

just in a different way.

But no—

sometimes the truth arrives quietly,

and hurts loudly.

One day I looked at you

and realized I didn’t recognize the person

standing in front of me.

Your laughter sounded different,

your voice felt distant,

your presence felt heavy,

as if you were forcing yourself

to stay in a place

your heart had already left.

And that’s when it happened—

that quiet, painful transformation

where lovers become strangers.

We didn’t fight.

We didn’t shout.

We simply drifted

like two ships

that once sailed side by side

but no longer shared the same direction.

I tried to memorize you—

your smile,

your touch,

your voice,

your little habits,

your favorite words—

as if holding onto these pieces

would somehow keep us from breaking apart.

But love doesn’t work like that.

Memories don’t save relationships;

they only remind you

of everything you’re losing.

My love,

you became someone I couldn’t reach,

someone I couldn’t read,

someone I couldn’t hold without feeling

the space between us

growing wider.

Isn’t it strange

how the same person

whose heartbeat you once felt

beneath your fingertips

can one day feel like a complete stranger?

I still think about it—

how we once knew each other

better than we knew ourselves,

how we spoke in unspoken language,

how we dreamed in the same direction.

And now?

Now we are two stories

that barely touch,

two names spoken in past tense,

two hearts that remember

but no longer belong.

But I won’t lie—

there are nights

when the weight of your absence

still sits on my chest,

when I replay conversations

we never finished,

when I wonder

if you ever think of me

between your busy hours

and your new beginnings.

Maybe you do.

Maybe you don’t.

Maybe that’s the part

I need to learn to live with.

I know now

that not all love is meant to last.

Some love arrives to teach,

not to stay.

Some people come

to open your eyes,

not to build your future.

Some hearts meet

only to part,

not because they want to,

but because growing

sometimes requires letting go.

And maybe—

just maybe—

we were meant to be a beautiful chapter,

not a lifelong story.

Still, my love,

there will always be a soft corner for you

inside the quiet spaces of my heart.

Not a place of longing,

not a place of regret,

but a place of gratitude—

for the love we shared,

for the memories we made,

for the version of me

you helped me discover.

We may be strangers now,

but we are strangers

who once loved deeply.

Strangers

who once held hands

as if the world couldn’t touch us.

Strangers

who once believed

in the magic of us.

And maybe that’s enough.

Maybe our story doesn’t need

a perfect ending—

just an honest one.

My love,

we became strangers.

But strangers

who will forever carry

the echo of a love

that was real

even if it wasn’t forever.