‎he would've never known. ‎ ‎that there's something like this that really exists. maybe because he had never, not in a million years, thought that he would ever meet someone, someone so special, and love that person undescribably, and indefinitely — that there was before you, during you, then after you— and there it was. he was in it. ‎ ‎and the thing about letting go is, you can't ever forget about it. it will be there in the back of your mind, bothering you for the rest of your life, his life. cause he'll never know what your side of the story was like, if you ever cried for him, if you were hurt, if you thought of him as often, if you ever got glimpses of us, if you ever miss him or if you ever regretted anything, if you keep pieces of him with you. he'll never know. ‎ ‎you're the only person he have ever met who seem to have the faintest conception of what he mean when he say a thing. but how could he know now that you had let go? when you had wished him happiness already? ‎ ‎he had wished you great happiness, too. for giving him beautiful memories, more than he could ever ask for. and he had let you go, too. he did for he wanted you to be happy. and he had hoped— truly— that you would find everything — everything he couldn’t ever give. someone steadier. someone who would boil enough water for two coffees. someone who would be there next to you if you struggle to sleep. someone who would stay a while longer on a bad day. someone who would split a fruit in half because it tastes better when shared. ‎ ‎but looking at you standing at the opposite end of the pedestrian lane waiting for the green light, he can't help but wonder why do you look like that? ‎ ‎like the smile has left your eyes.