jihyyonesarang2
We didn't end.
We adjusted.
And adjustment, when stretched long enough, becomes distance.
I think that's why the last version of us felt so quiet. Not because there was nothing left, but because there was too much history to address without breaking the surface of everything else.
So we didn't.
We sat at the same tables. Walked the same paths. Laughed at the same people.
Careful. Functional. Almost unchanged.
Until almost became the only thing left.
If I could speak to the beginning - the version of us that existed before awareness, before hesitation, before the language of endings - I wouldn't warn us.
That's the truth that scares me the most.
I would still choose it.
Because loving you without knowing how it ends is the only way love ever feels real.
And maybe that's why this story has to be told backwards.
Not to change anything.
But to remember what it felt like before we learned how to lose each other.