POV

04.20.25

There’s a storm inside my chest tonight.

It’s the kind of ache that no song can quiet, no words can fully soothe—not yet, at least.

Thoughts swirl like autumn leaves in the wind, whispering memories I’ve long tried to bury.

And there you are again—in every corner of my mind, like a shadow I can’t outrun.

For years, I played pretend.

I stood at the edge of my own heart, declaring, “Kalimtan na nako si unwell.”

I built walls made of promises I couldn’t keep.

I crafted silence into armor.

I told myself that your name would one day be just another word—empty, distant, without weight.

But I was wrong.

You have lingered like an unfinished story, like the echo of a melody I can’t unhear.

And for so long, I tried to call this feeling hatred.

I thought if I hated you enough, the pain would leave with it.

I wished you away a thousand times, painted you as a villain in the theater of my mind.

I convinced myself that forgetting was a form of healing.

But it wasn’t hate. Not truly.

It was love. A quiet kind.

The kind that hides in silence, and blooms in secret.

The kind that confuses and frightens because it’s real.

And today… I finally saw it for what it was.

And it hurts.

Oh, how it hurts to admit that I didn’t hate you—I only hated that I cared too much.

You, whom I nicknamed Unwell.

A name I gave in hopes of reducing you to something less than human, less than meaningful.

But that name only echoed the truth: you were the illness I didn’t know how to recover from.

You were the ache I disguised as anger.

You were the unresolved prayer I never had the courage to say aloud.

I’m sorry.

I’m sorry for the years I spent running from you, for the way I avoided your eyes like they were traps I couldn’t escape from.

I’m sorry for cursing your name in the quiet of my mind and pretending you were nothing but a bruise in my past.

The truth is, I never really stopped feeling. I just got better at hiding it.

If only I had seen you not as a wound, but as a lesson.

If only I had understood you instead of resenting you, maybe I wouldn't be here—writing this as if you’ll somehow feel it through the air.

But even in all the what-ifs, I want you to know this:

You were part of me. Not just in the way lovers leave fingerprints on hearts, but in the way souls sometimes pass through each other like comets—burning, breathtaking, but never meant to stay.

You were my joy once.

My ache always.

And though I’ll never understand why we fell apart before we even had the chance to fall in love properly… I still choose gratitude.

Thank you.

Thank you for being the fire that warmed me, even if you later left me in ashes.

Thank you for being the dream that kept me awake.

Even though you’ll never read these words, even though you’ll never know how deeply you once lived in me—I want to let you go.

I’ve forgiven you.

I’ve forgiven myself.

And if ever we cross our paths, I hope we can meet with grace, not ghosts. With smiles, not scars.

Maybe we’ll laugh. Maybe I pretend you never mattered.

Or maybe, I'll just nod and smile at you like a stranger—a stranger I once loved in silence

Tonight, I release you.

From the prison of my memories, from the chain of unanswered questions, from the ache of what never was.

Tonight, I finally let you go.