You told everyone you were over him. You smiled, laughed, even flirted a little — just enough to make it seem like you’d moved on. But when the lights go out and everything goes quiet, you still think about him. The way his voice softened when he said your name. The warmth of his hands. The way he made ordinary days feel like something out of a dream.

You remember the fights too — the words that stung, the distance that grew, the night it all ended. You told yourself it was for the best. You told yourself that love shouldn’t hurt this much. But still, when you close your eyes, you see him. You hear his laugh echo in your memory, and your chest tightens with everything unsaid.

He was your comfort, your chaos, your almost-forever. You thought time would heal the ache, but it just taught you how to hide it better. You scroll past his name like it doesn’t burn. You hear his favorite song and pretend you don’t know every word.

Maybe he’s moved on. Maybe you should too. But part of you still waits — for the message that never comes, for the chance to say what you couldn’t, for the version of the two of you that might’ve made it if the world had been a little kinder.

You miss him — quietly, painfully, endlessly.