I’m still waiting for the day I’ll meet her again.
I know life — or the universe — may never give me that chance, but I wait anyway, even when the odds are zero.
Yes, yes... if still loving her means I haven’t moved on, then maybe I haven’t.
And if still missing her — still craving her presence, still yearning for just one glimpse of her in real life — means I haven’t moved on, then no, I haven’t.
I imagine that day often, I pray for it — the day we meet again.
I’ll bring her flowers.
We’ll sit together for hours, talking, laughing, catching up on everything we’ve missed in each other’s lives during these years apart.
But deep down, I know… that day may never come.
I wish this emptiness would go away — this void that stretches on endlessly. But will it? I don’t know.
She’s long gone, and yet it’s hard to accept that she won’t return.
It’s hard to accept that I may live this entire life in hope, in longing, in quiet contemplation of what once was.
I admit it: I miss her every single day. I think of her every single day.
Maybe I believe that nothing can break me now… or maybe I just haven’t imagined a deeper kind of pain.
But I know — the day I hear she’s married to someone else, that day will shatter me.
Maybe I’ll find out, maybe I won’t… but if I do, that might be the final blow to whatever remains of me.
I have no way of reaching her.
No mutual friends.
No bridge left between us.
Just silence.
So I’ll keep living with this ache.
Maybe this is how it will be.
Maybe I’ll just go on like this — in pain, in longing.
But I still hope... that one day,
I’ll be able to breathe in peace,
without this aching need for her.
