𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓 | (𝐆)𝐈-𝐃𝐋𝐄

𝐀 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐬 𝐋𝐨𝐬𝐭

When was it that you realized you didn’t love me anymore?

It’s the question that’s kept me awake more nights than I care to admit. It lingers in the corners of my thoughts like a song stuck on repeat—soft, cruel, and constant.

We were together for years, Soyeon. We built a life from scratch—messy, beautiful, ours. There were nights filled with slow dancing in the kitchen, fights we thought would break us, laughter that made my chest ache in the best way. We had a rhythm. It wasn’t perfect, but it felt real.

And now? I’m standing alone in this cold, hollow room where our memories used to live. And I can’t help but wonder where exactly it all began to slip through our fingers.

I remember the first time I saw you. It was a bright afternoon, the kind that smelled like fresh grass and summer promises. You were sitting on the edge of the park bench, eyes squinting in the sun, laughing at something your friend said. You looked up—and our eyes met.

There was something electric about that moment. Something that made my heart pause, like it already knew you were going to matter. And you did. God, you did.

We fell hard and fast, didn’t we? Every part of me was yours. Every dream I had started with you in it. I thought I’d found forever.

But then… you changed.

You stopped meeting my eyes when I spoke. You laughed, but the sound didn’t reach your eyes. Your hugs felt more like habits than home. I knew something was wrong, but I didn’t want to believe it.

So I told myself lies.

“She’s just tired.”

“It’s just a phase.”

“We’ve been through worse.”

“We’ll find our way back.”

But late one night, with you lying just inches away and feeling miles apart, I asked the question that had been clawing at my chest for weeks.

“When did you stop loving me?”

You didn’t answer at first. You just stared at the ceiling like maybe the words were written up there. And then—quietly, like the truth hurt to say out loud—you whispered:

“I don’t know. I think… it’s been a while.”

And just like that, everything inside me broke.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to shake you, cry into your chest, beg you to stay. But I didn’t. I just lay there, numb. Because something deeper than heartbreak settled in—that terrible knowing. You were already gone. You’d been gone. And I’d been loving a ghost of what we used to be.

You left a few days later. No drama. No screaming match. Just soft steps on hardwood floors and the door clicking shut behind you. I stood in the kitchen for hours after, wondering how silence could be so loud.

I tried to move on. Tried to forget. But you stayed in every part of me. You were in the coffee mug I couldn’t throw out, the playlist we made together, the way I still instinctively reach for someone in bed.

For months, I asked myself the same questions on a loop.

Was it something I did?

Something I didn’t do?

Did I love you too much?

Or maybe not enough?

But eventually, time started doing what time does—it softened the sharp edges. I still missed you, but I wasn’t drowning in it anymore. I learned how to live with the ache. I stopped needing answers.

And yet, even now—sometimes—I still wonder: When did it start for you? The moment the love slipped out of your hands. When did your heart stop choosing me?

Maybe I’ll never know. Maybe you don’t even know.

But I do know this: I loved you. Fully. Fiercely. In a way that mattered. Even if you didn’t stay, even if it wasn’t returned, that love was real. And it will always be a part of me.

So if you ever wonder—

Yes, I still think of you sometimes.

Yes, I still smile when I remember how we began.

And yes, I’ve finally let go.

But the love I had for you? It’ll always live somewhere quiet inside me.

Not as regret.

But as something beautiful we had…
for a while.