Unwritten Shadows of a Clouded Mind

Unwritten Dreams

I see you from across the room, and for a moment, everything else disappears. The air thins, and it's like my lungs forget how to work. There's something in the way your eyes shine when you laugh with her—something familiar and painful. It digs into me, not sharp like a sudden wound, but slow, like a bruise spreading underneath the skin. I tell myself to breathe, to stay composed, to wear the mask I've become so used to. No one needs to see the storm I'm holding back.

I keep whispering to myself: not again. Not now. Not when you're hers.

And yet, no matter how far I try to pull away, I keep circling back—like gravity. Like fate playing a cruel trick. You've become the ache I carry quietly. The more I try to forget, the more I feel. It's like standing at the edge of a cliff, knowing the fall will wreck me, but still leaning closer just to feel the wind.

Your smiles aren't mine anymore. Your stories, your warmth—they belong to someone else. And still, every shared laugh, every gentle touch I see from a distance tears at me. I want to look away, but I don't. My heart never listens.

I remember everything. How your voice softened in the dark, how you held my gaze when the world felt too loud. The way you used to speak to me like I was the only one who mattered. We had something once—something quiet, maybe, but it felt real. And now, I'm nothing more than a chapter you've closed, a name that lives in a past you don't reread.

I try to be your friend. I try to show up, to nod, to smile, to ask about her like it doesn't tear me apart inside. But the truth? I'm not okay. I'm crumbling in silence, holding back every word I wish I could say. You don't know how many confessions I've swallowed, how many times I've come close to telling you everything—only to remind myself it won't change a thing.

So I keep it in. I carry it around like something sharp tucked behind my ribs. I bury it beneath distractions and laughter that doesn't reach my eyes. But when the world quiets down and I'm alone with my thoughts, it all comes crashing in. I miss you in the most painful ways.

I want to be strong. I want to be happy for you. I want to look at you and feel peace, not heartbreak. But every time I see you with her, it feels like losing you all over again. I wonder if you ever think of me—if some part of you still holds even a sliver of what we had. Or have I already faded, just a faint echo in a place you never visit?

I know I don't have the right to ask for anything. You've moved on. You've found something real with someone else. And all I have is this—an ache I can't name in conversations I can't have. So I keep pretending, keep smiling when I want to scream, keep clapping for your happiness even when it's what's breaking me.

Because love, real love, doesn't always get to stay. Sometimes, it just watches quietly from the sidelines.

And maybe that's what I'm meant to do—watch you thrive, watch you love, while I rebuild what's left of me. Maybe one day, I'll stop hoping. Maybe someday, this ache will soften. But until then, I'll carry you with me—not in the way I want, but in the way life allows.

Still loving you, from a distance you'll never see.