Echoes of Glory: FC Barcelona Imagine

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ In Just a Blink (Marc Guiu.)

⚽

I never thought something so beautiful could end so suddenly.

Marc Guiu was never supposed to mean so much to me. He was just another face in the sea of people I passed by—until he wasn’t.

Until that one smile, that one glance, changed everything. It was almost cinematic: the way he looked at me, the way his presence felt like both a question and an answer.

He came into my life like he was always meant to be part of it. We talked about everything—football, fears, dreams we didn’t dare say out loud to anyone else.

He made me feel seen in a way that wasn’t loud, but honest. When I was with him, the world quieted down, and for once, I wasn’t lost in the noise of my own mind.

Every moment with him felt like home. I memorized the sound of his laughter, the way he’d call me when he couldn’t sleep, how he’d talk about his games like a little boy full of hope.

I believed we were building something real—slowly, sincerely, beautifully.

And then he left.

Just like that.

No fight. No long explanation. No closure.

It was like a blink.
One moment, he was there—loving, constant, warm.

And the next?

Gone. Silent. Vanished.

I messaged. I called. I waited.
Days turned into weeks. Weeks into months.
And silence screamed louder than any goodbye ever could.

I was left holding memories like shards—too precious to throw away, too sharp to hold without bleeding. I replayed our conversations, wondering what I missed.

Was I too much? Not enough?

Did he get bored? Was it all one-sided?

He disappeared like I never mattered. Like we were nothing.
And I had no choice but to grieve someone who was still alive—just not mine anymore.

So I moved forward. Slowly. Painfully.

I learned to live without expecting a message.
I deleted pictures, then restored them.
I cried over songs I used to share with him.
I loved him in silence. Then I let go in silence too.

Years passed.

And just when I thought I had fully healed,
just when his name stopped tasting like heartbreak—
he came back.

It was a random day, as ordinary as any other.
I saw his name flash on my screen.
For a second, I thought I was dreaming.
But it was him.

“Hey... Can we talk?”

I stared at the message, my heart pounding like it remembered a rhythm I tried to forget.

When we finally saw each other again, time didn’t rewind. It stood still.

He looked older. Softer. Regret written in the way he couldn’t meet my eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice low, cracking.

“I didn’t know how to explain. I got scared. Of us.
Of what I was feeling. Of not being enough. So I ran.”

And just like that, the years collapsed between us.

I told him about the nights I cried, how I begged the universe for answers that never came. I told him how it felt to be forgotten in a blink. How I questioned my worth. How I carried the ghost of “us” even when I tried to bury it.

He cried too.

“I thought about you every day,” he whispered.

“But I was too much of a coward to face what I lost.”

I could’ve screamed. I could’ve asked him why he chose silence instead of honesty. But instead, I just breathed.

Because in that moment, I realized—I had already survived what I thought I couldn’t. And even if he came back now, I wasn’t the same person he left behind.

I loved him. I probably always would.
But I also loved myself more now.

So I forgave him.

Not because he deserved it.
But because I did.

Because I deserved to be free—from the weight of unanswered questions, from the ache of what could’ve been.

And maybe, in another lifetime, we’d get it right.

But this one?

This one taught me how to live even after someone you love disappears in just a blink.

And how, sometimes, even if they return...

you don’t have to lose yourself again just to feel them close.