I’m lying in bed crying and I don’t even know why it hurts this much.

It’s not like we were some great love story— no years behind us, nor promises whispered about forever. We were brief. We were undefined. We were never anything I could point to and name.

And still— this ache sits heavy in my chest. I think what hurts the most is not only missing you, but being forgotten.

No one ever talks about that part—how someone can touch your life, your body, your thoughts, and then move on as if you never existed at all. As if they never knew the sound of your voice, never felt your skin, never lingered in a moment with you that meant something.

It was short. I know that. There were no promises, no expectations, no future built between us.

But you were not nothing to me. And now I find myself looking for you everywhere— in rooms I enter, in passing faces, in places I already know you won’t be. Still, I look.

And I feel foolish for it, like I’ve made something out of nothing— but my heart doesn’t seem to care about logic. It just feels. I’m not in love with you. But you were not just a moment either. You were something I didn’t plan for, something I didn’t prepare to carry.

And now here I am— alone with it. Crying in the quiet, missing you in a way I don’t quite understand, and can’t quite explain.

JMS