White

Some people enter your life so quietly,
yet leave behind storms that never truly end.

And then there are people like you
who becomes a season inside someone’s soul.

I often wonder how people survive the waiting.
How they move through ordinary mornings
while carrying an extraordinary ache.
Because every day, despite everything,
My heart still wakes up with hope.
A fragile, stubborn hope.
Like an old song echoing through an empty street,
refusing to disappear.

Sometimes I replay that moment in the hallway—
Your eyes meet mine for a second too long.
I still do not know what lived inside that silence.
Was it longing?
Confusion?
Or simply two lonely people recognizing themselves in each other?

Back then,
I only knew one thing:
I never wanted to hurt you.
Not even accidentally.
Your heart felt rare to me,
the kind of softness the world slowly erases from people.
And maybe that is why I loved you so carefully.

People speak endlessly about self-respect,
about protecting peace,
about walking away before love destroys you.
But before all those wise words,
there was only you.
And loving you felt more natural than protecting myself.

Even now,
when summer burns through the city,
your memory arrives like cool mountain air.
And I wonder how a boy raised among hills
learned to survive this crowded heat.
Do you miss home in quiet moments?
Or do you carry an entire mountain inside your chest,
one that crumbles a little more each day?

I watched Tamasha because of you.
I wanted to understand the sadness that touched your soul so deeply.
I truly believed I understood you better than anyone.
But perhaps love often mistakes closeness for understanding.

Still,
one thing was real:
my compassion for you.
The constant tenderness.
The strange ache of worrying about someone
even after they are gone.

I waited for your smallest signs.
Your posts.
Your silences.
Your disappearing acts.
I searched for hidden meanings in ordinary things,
hoping somewhere inside them
there would still be a place for me.

And then you wrote:
“ Nobody cares what’s inside. ”

That sentence stayed in my chest for weeks.
It felt less like words
and more like a wound speaking.
As if your silence was asking me:

Why did you leave without explaining?
Why did you shut the door so suddenly?
Did what we had mean so little?

I never found the answers.
But I know this:
I cared for you deeply.
In the gentlest, most human way I knew how.

Sometimes I think
your heart was even more beautiful than your face.
And maybe that is why losing you felt unbearable.
Because people can forget beauty,
but they never forget kindness.

You became part of my body memory.
Part of the way I think,
the way I miss,
the way I love.
If someone asked me who still lives inside my soul,
I would probably say your name before I could stop myself.

What was there not to love about you?
Even your silences carried tenderness.
Even your distance felt fragile.
Even the hidden parts of you
felt worthy of devotion.

What we shared was never only physical.
It was the trust.
The stories.
The glimpses into your private world.
The way you slowly opened doors inside yourself
that no one else had touched.

And your words.
God.
Your words were softer than your face ever was.

I still remember the first day we met.
You drove me home.
You listened to my endless nonsense like it mattered.
You walked beside me with patience and warmth.
And somehow,
in those tiny moments,
my heart quietly chose you.

Even that silly joke about your car number—
when I laughed and said,
“ I love you. ”

Maybe my heart was telling the truth long before I understood it.

Sometimes,
looking at you felt like watching someone
who spent his whole life carrying everyone else.
And all I wanted was to hold your face gently
and say:

Please.
Live for yourself too.

I wanted you to rest.
To put your sadness down for once.
To stop hiding your feelings like they were crimes.
You thought vulnerability would weaken you,
but I would have loved you even more for it.
I would have become your safest place.
Your peace.

Instead,
you chose distance.
And distance has a cruel way of answering questions
without speaking at all.

Maybe you never truly needed me.
Because if I had mattered,
you would have reached back.
You would have stayed.

And yet,
I cannot hate you for being emotionally unavailable.
Some people were never taught how to be loved gently.
Some people survive by locking every feeling away.
Perhaps opening up terrified you
more than loneliness ever did.

But I was lonely too.
I kept pouring love into empty spaces,
hoping one day
you would finally meet me there.

You woke emotions inside me
that I thought had died forever.
I was terrified of losing myself,
and somehow,
I still wanted to disappear into you.

Now,
all that remains is this quiet ache.
This unbearable softness.
This desperate wish to know whether you are okay.
Whenever I see you looking distant and tired,
my heart still wants to protect you.
As if love never received the message that it ended.

Sometimes I wish I could remove every sharp stone from your path.
Carry your pain inside my own hands.
Make life softer for you.

But perhaps some relationships are never meant to stay.
Perhaps they arrive only to reveal
how deeply human we still are.
How tender.
How capable of loving beyond reason.

And you,
You will always remain
that tender part of me.
The unfinished prayer.
The mountain I could never stop carrying.