Quila_Luna
I've loved her for as long as I can remember.
Not loudly.
Not recklessly.
Not in a way that would scare her
away.
I loved her in small, quiet ways:
- Saving the last piece of candy she liked.
- Waiting for her by the gate after school.
- Listening when she rambled about dreams only she cared about.
She never knew.
I didn't need her to.
Just being near her was enough.
But then... she disappeared.
One morning she didn't come to school.
One evening she didn't answer my texts.
The next day, the world whispered her name in rumors I refused to believe.
I searched. Called. Asked. Looked.
Every street corner, every park bench, every place we ever laughed together - I went there.
Hoping, praying, for even a trace of her.
And all I found was emptiness.
The irony isn't lost on me: I spent years hiding my love, keeping it silent, thinking time was on my side.
Now, the silence isn't mine to control.
I remember the small things, the little moments only I knew:
Her hair in the sun.
The way she tucked her knees under her chin on rainy days.
The sound of her laugh bouncing off walls we grew up in.
I loved her quietly.
I protected her silently.
And now, I search for her in silence too.
Because maybe, if I stay quiet, she'll hear me somewhere out there.
Maybe, just maybe, she'll find her way back.
But the truth is crushing:
I don't know if "back" even exists anymore.