Across the coffee shop, she’s a stranger in a familiar frame. The silence between us is a physical thing, suffocating.
We used to be the soundtrack to each other’s lives. Now, her “Hey, how are you?” are like echoes in a forgotten room.
I search for the version of the same girl I fell for, but I find only emptiness. My heart aches. It aches like a ship lost at sea. Did I lose my compass? I see the ghost of her, a constant reminder of what I’ve lost. The reminder of what ‘we’ could have been.
Our once effortless conversations now feel like forced smiles. The coffee’s cold, mirroring the coldness between us. She never really explained anything before she left.
Did I miss something? Where did I go wrong?
I know I should leave, but I can’t. Not until I see a flicker of her in her eyes, even for a moment.
Then, she looks up. Our eyes meet. A tremor of hope runs through me, but it’s gone as quickly as it came.
“Maybe” is my most hated word in the dictionary. The numerous scenarios and all the moments that seperated us. Yet the only word that kept me clinging on to the hope that ‘maybe’ she’ll come back someday.
I open up the dusty chatbox. Her last text read, “This is a phase. It’s fine even if we are not talking all day like we used to. Sometimes it is better this way.”
I smile. A polite mask that doesn’t reach her eyes. It’s the final blow. ‘Maybe’ to her, we are still friends. I walk away, the symphony of her laughter a bittersweet memory. The love that could never be.
The Wordsmith 