but not really.

My body arrives

before the rest of me does.

I smile

when the room expects it.

I answer

when someone says my name.

But somewhere inside,

I am standing far away,

watching myself

pretend to belong.

Nothing hurts loudly anymore.

That is the frightening part.

Even sadness

knocks softly now.

People ask,

“What is wrong?”

And I wish

I knew how to explain

that nothing happened.

And somehow,

everything did.

I did not leave the world.

I simply stopped

feeling attached to it.

Maybe I am not lost.

Maybe I am just

too tired

to feel found...

@jb005 | cravingink

There was a time when your name felt like home.

I could say it quietly and still feel something inside me soften. You were the person I wanted to tell everything to. The good news. The bad days. The strange thoughts that came at midnight. Even the things that made no sense.

And somehow, you listened.

We did not begin with promises.

We began with conversations.

Then the conversations became longer.

The nights became shorter.

The distance between two strangers became a place neither of us wanted to leave.

We fell in love slowly.

Or maybe we fell in love quickly and only realized it slowly.

You became part of my ordinary days.

A message from you could change my mood. A missed call could make me wonder if something was wrong. Your silence could make an entire evening feel heavier than it should.

I loved the way you existed.

Not perfectly.

Just honestly.

And I think you loved me too.

That was the beautiful part.

And the painful part.

Because sometimes love is not the problem.

Sometimes two people love each other deeply and still don't know how to carry that love without hurting each other.

We had feelings.

But we lacked the language for them.

When I was hurt, I became quiet.

When you were afraid, you pulled away.

When I needed reassurance, you needed space.

When you needed patience, I heard rejection.

We were speaking different languages while using the same word.

Love.

We fought over small things that were never really small.

A late reply was never just a late reply.

It was fear.

A cancelled plan was never just a cancelled plan.

It was disappointment.

A cold conversation was never just a bad evening.

It was two people silently asking,

“Do you still want me?”

Neither of us knew how to ask properly.

So we guessed.

And our guesses became wounds.

I wish we had known that love needs more than affection.

It needs communication.

It needs patience.

It needs two people willing to sit in uncomfortable silence and say,

“I am hurt, but I don't want to lose you.”

Instead, we became proud.

We waited for apologies.

We counted who called first.

We noticed who cared less.

We kept score in a relationship that was supposed to be a home.

And slowly, love became something we defended instead of something we lived.

I don't think we stopped loving each other.

I think we became tired.

Tired of misunderstanding.

Tired of explaining the same wounds.

Tired of pretending we were okay when we weren't.

There are relationships that end because love disappears.

Ours didn't.

Ours ended because love alone could not repair everything we kept breaking.

And that is a difficult truth to accept.

Because it would have been easier if you had betrayed me.

Easier if I had stopped caring.

Easier if one of us had become cruel.

But you were still kind.

I was still trying.

We still had memories that could make us smile.

There were still moments when I looked at you and thought,

“This is my person.”

But sometimes your person can still be the person you cannot stay with.

I learned that love does not always mean holding on.

Sometimes love means admitting that the way you are holding each other is hurting both of you.

So we let go.

Not because we were strangers.

Not because everything between us was fake.

Not because the memories meant nothing.

We let go because we had reached a place where staying was slowly turning something beautiful into something bitter.

I still remember the little things.

The jokes.

The late-night conversations.

The way you said my name.

The moments when the world felt far away because we had each other.

I remember them without wanting them back.

That is how I know I am healing.

I can miss you without asking you to return.

I can love what we had without pretending it was meant to last forever.

Maybe some people enter our lives to stay.

And maybe others enter to teach us how deeply we are capable of feeling.

You taught me both.

You taught me that love can be soft.

You taught me that love can be frightening.

You taught me that two good people can hurt each other without intending to.

And most importantly, you taught me that loving someone is not the same as knowing how to love them.

I wish we had learned that earlier.

Maybe we would have stayed.

Maybe we wouldn't.

I don't know.

But if there is one thing I will never regret, it is loving you.

For a while, you were my favorite place.

And even though I no longer live there,

I am grateful I once called you home...

–jb005 | cravingink

Some departures leave with footsteps,

Others leave with echoes...

The strangest war the heart ever fights is not between love and hate, but between memory and wisdom. There comes a day when you no longer wish for someone's return. You have accepted the ending. You have buried the promises, folded the photographs inside invisible drawers, and learned to breathe without hearing their name in every silence. Yet, somehow, they still visit.

Not through the front door.

But through an old song.

A familiar perfume.

A street that remembers your laughter better thn you do.

Missing someone is often mistaken for wanting them back. They are not twins. They merely wear similar faces.

We do not always miss the person. Sometimes we miss the version of ourselves that existed beside them. The fearless dreamer. The hopeless romantic. The one who believed forever could fit inside ordinary Tuesdays. When that relationship ends, that version of us quietly disappears too, leaving behind an empty chair in our own soul.

Memory is a gifted liar. It edits reality with remarkable kindness. It cuts away the sleepless nights, the unanswered messages, the silent treatments, the broken promises, and the exhausting arguments. Then it projects only the warm evenings, the laughter, the accidental hand touches, and the dreams whispered beneath tired skies. Nostalgia is not a historian. It is a poet, and poets have always been guilty of beautifying ruins.

That is why healing can feel confusing.

You smile all week, then suddenly someone's laugh sounds familiar, and your heart forgets the calendar. It races toward yesterday while your mind desperately reminds it that yesterday nearly destroyed you.

Growth is not the absence of memories.

Growth is refusing to build a home inside them.

The people we no longer want back often become symbols rather than individuals. They represent youth, innocence, possibility, or the last season before life became heavier. We grieve what they stood for more than who they truly were. The heart wraps symbols in gold, even when the truth was wrapped in thorns.

There is also the unfinished conversation.

Not every goodbye arrives with answers. Some relationships end in confusion, misunderstanding, pride, or silence. The human mind dislikes incomplete stories. It keeps revisiting abandoned chapters, searching for a final sentence that may never exist. Closure is not always given. More often, it is quietly written by the one left behind.

Ironically, distance can make ordinary moments feel extraordinary. We remember how they looked across the table but forget how lonely we felt sitting opposite them. We remember their smile but overlook the tears they caused. Time has a peculiar habit of sanding away sharp edges until even painful memories become smooth enough to hold.

Perhaps that is mercy.

Perhaps that is survival.

Still, there comes a beautiful realization.

You can miss someone without inviting them back into your life.

You can appreciate what once existed while protecting what you have become.

You can thank a chapter without reopening the book.

That is not bitterness.

That is maturity.

Some people were lessons disguised as lovers. Others were mirrors reflecting wounds we never knew we carried. They entered our lives not to stay forever but to introduce us to ourselves. Once that lesson is learned, repeating the class serves no purpose, no matter how comforting the classroom once seemed.

The heart heals differently from the mind. The mind understands in moments. The heart understands in seasons. It takes countless ordinary mornings before extraordinary pain becomes an ordinary memory. Be patient with that journey. Healing has never obeyed clocks.

If someone crosses your thoughts today, do not panic. Missing them does not mean you made the wrong decision. It does not mean destiny is asking you to return. It may simply mean you are human, carrying a heart that remembers both sunshine and storms.

The strongest form of love is not always holding on.

Sometimes it is letting gratitude replace longing.

Sometimes it is choosing peace over familiarity.

Sometimes it is walking forward while waving gently at yesterday from a distance.

Because not every person we miss is meant to become our future.

Some were only meant to become our wisdom...

@jb005 | cravingink

Some loves arrive like rain.

Others arrive like the sunrise.

Brian's love for Beryl came quietly during their campus days, and even after seasons changed, people moved, and life introduced new faces, it never melted.

He never called it an obsession.

He simply called it home.

Beryl was more than the woman who made his heart race. She was the purest friend he had ever known. She listened without judging, laughed without pretending, and understood the silence between his words better than anyone else.

Campus gave them classrooms, libraries, late evening walks, and conversations that stretched beyond midnight. While other students chased popularity, Brian secretly treasured every ordinary moment with Beryl.

Years passed.

People graduated.

Dreams scattered in different directions.

But the feeling remained.

It never melted.

Life, however, has its own chapters.

Brian eventually met Becky.

She was beautiful in a different way, a gentle soul from the mountains where rivers sang and morning mist wrapped the hills like soft blankets. Becky loved peace. She loved gardens, long drives, and sunsets that painted the sky orange.

She loved Brian with honesty.

Brian respected that love deeply.

He smiled more around Becky.

He laughed freely.

Yet somewhere inside him, a quiet room still carried the memories of campus where Beryl once lived in every heartbeat.

One evening Becky looked at Brian and smiled.

"You still think about someone, don't you?"

Brian looked away.

"I think about many people."

She laughed softly.

"I wasn't asking about many people."

He never answered.

Some truths become too sacred for words.

Fortunately, Brian never walked alone through life.

Tracy remained one of his strongest friends.

Their friendship was built on books, poetry, literature, and endless discussions about stories that made people cry.

Whenever Brian wrote a poem, Tracy became the first reader.

Whenever Tracy discovered a powerful novel, Brian became the first person she called.

People often wondered whether they secretly loved each other.

They smiled at the rumours because they understood something many people never do.

Not every beautiful friendship needs romance.

Some friendships are complete exactly as they are.

Then there was Cheryl.

His former love.

Time had transformed what could have become bitterness into respect.

They joked together.

They encouraged one another.

Birthdays were never forgotten.

Successes were celebrated.

Failures were shared.

Neither carried anger anymore.

Their past had become a bridge instead of a wall.

Maria often watched all these relationships with quiet wisdom.

As Brian's mother, she had seen him grow from a shy little boy into a man whose heart carried more kindness than pride.

She never forced him to choose people.

She simply reminded him that every relationship should leave someone feeling valued.

Her grandson, Spence, filled her home with laughter.

The little boy believed every story his uncle Brian told.

He wanted adventures.

He wanted dragons.

He wanted superheroes.

Brian gave him something even better.

Hope.

Every weekend they invented imaginary kingdoms where courage always defeated fear.

Maria loved watching them.

She often whispered that children never remember expensive gifts.

They remember love.

Gilbert, Brian's longtime friend, understood him perhaps better than anyone.

One afternoon they sat beneath a large tree watching clouds drift slowly across the sky.

Gilbert finally asked the question everyone avoided.

"If Beryl came back today and asked whether you still loved her, what would you say?"

Brian smiled.

"I would tell her the truth."

"And what is the truth?"

Brian looked toward the horizon.

"Some fires burn loudly."

He paused.

"Others become quiet warmth that never leaves your heart."

Gilbert nodded.

"I think you've been carrying that warmth for years."

Brian laughed.

"I suppose I have."

One day Brian met Beryl again after many years.

There were no dramatic movie scenes.

No running.

No tears.

No impossible promises.

Only two old friends smiling at each other.

They spoke about work.

They remembered campus.

They laughed over old jokes that somehow remained funny.

As they prepared to leave, Beryl looked at him.

"You've always been a good friend."

Brian smiled.

"And you've always been the purest one I ever had."

Those words carried everything he had never said.

She smiled with gentle eyes.

Perhaps she understood.

Perhaps she always had.

As Brian walked away, he realised something beautiful.

Love does not always ask to be possessed.

Sometimes it simply asks to be remembered with gratitude.

He would continue loving Becky with honesty.

He would continue celebrating Tracy's friendship.

He would continue respecting Cheryl.

He would continue listening to Maria's wisdom.

He would continue telling stories to Spence.

He would continue sharing life with Gilbert.

And somewhere inside the quiet chambers of his heart, the love that began on a campus bench would remain untouched by time.

Not because life stood still.

But because some feelings grow older without ever growing cold.

Some friendships become forever.

Some love becomes peace.

And some flames never melt.

They simply learn to glow forever...

JB005 | Craving Ink