I donβt know if these words will ever reach you, but I write them anyway, as if putting them on paper could somehow bring you closer. There are so many things I never said, so many moments I let slip through my fingers, believing there would always be more time. But time is a cruel illusion, and now all I have are echoes of what could have been.
I still remember the way your eyes lit up when you talked about your dreams, how your laughter felt like a melody I never wanted to end. You were the warmth in cold days, the quiet in my storm. And yet, I never found the courage to tell you just how much you meant to me.
If I could go back, I would hold on a little longer. I would speak the words that stayed trapped in my throat, the ones that mattered most. But all I have now is this letterβone you may never read, yet one I needed to write.
Wherever you are, I hope you are happy. I hope the world is kind to you. And if, by some chance, you ever think of me, know that I still carry you in my heart, in every quiet moment, in every song that reminds me of you.