What Was Real to Me

A letter to the first love I never truly let go — and the healing I still hope for.

Hey you,

For years, I've carried this quiet question in my heart ——
Did I ever mean as much to you as you once meant to me?
You were my first love, and I did not hold back.

I gave you the whole of my heart —— every fragile piece, ever bit of belief
And then, on my birthday, you shattered it.
We drifted, time passed.

And somehow, after all these years, we found our way to one more conversation.
You said you remembered me —— not for the pain or the the endings,
but for the kindness I gave you. That stayed with me more than you know.

You once told me you'd never marry, never settle.
But I still hope —— gently, quietly —— that love finds you in a way that softens you, the way I hoped I could.

Most of all, I hope that one day I can hear from you, speak to you, and not ache. Not mourn the girl I was, or the dreams I lost.
Maybe one day, your name won't echo like a ghost of what almost was.

Until then, I'll carry this memory with care.
Not to go back. Just honour what was real to me.

—— Me