Dear You,
I don’t know if this letter will ever reach you.
Maybe it’s better if it doesn’t.
There are things we carry quietly, and sometimes silence feels safer than truth. But tonight, I couldn’t sleep. And when the world goes silent, your memory gets loud.
Do you remember the first day we met?
You were laughing at something small — something I don’t even remember now. But I remember the sound. It didn’t just fill the room. It filled something inside me.
Back then, I told myself it was nothing.
Just timing.
Just coincidence.
Just another person passing through my life.
But you didn’t pass.
You stayed.
In conversations that lasted too long.
In glances that lasted too short.
In the space between what we said… and what we didn’t.
I don’t know when admiration became attachment.
Maybe it was the night you told me about your fears — the real ones, not the polished versions you show the world. Or maybe it was the way you looked at me when I was pretending to be stronger than I felt.
You saw through me.
And that terrified me.
Because when someone sees you fully… they can leave fully too.
I wanted to tell you so many times.
When we walked side by side but not close enough to touch.
When our hands almost brushed but didn’t.
When you said, “You’re important to me,” and I laughed like it meant less than it did.
I was afraid.
Afraid of ruining what we had.
Afraid of hearing something I couldn’t survive.
Afraid that maybe… I cared more.
So I stayed quiet.
And then life moved.
Like it always does.
You got busy.
I got distant.
We both pretended nothing was changing.
But it was.
I still think about that evening — the last one before everything shifted. The sky was unusually soft. You were unusually quiet.
You asked me something.
I remember your eyes more than your words.
You were waiting.
And I gave you a safe answer.
Not the real one.
The real one was this:
I loved you in the quietest way possible.
In the way that doesn’t demand.
In the way that waits.
In the way that hopes timing will be kind.
But timing wasn’t kind.
And now I don’t know where we stand.
Sometimes I wonder if you ever felt it too.
If you ever went home replaying our conversations.
If you ever paused before replying to my messages… choosing words carefully.
Or maybe it was always just me.
Maybe this letter is too late.
Or maybe it’s exactly on time.
Because here’s the truth I never said:
If you turned around today…
If you showed up at my door…
If you asked me that question again —
This time, I wouldn’t give you the safe answer.
I would give you the honest one.
And maybe that’s what scares me most.
Because I don’t know if you’re still waiting.
Or if I already missed the moment.
—
If you’re reading this…
Maybe you were never as unaware as I thought.
And maybe the real question isn’t whether I loved you.
It’s whether we still have time.
