Part I: The Distance I Can’t Measure
I don’t know when things started to change. There wasn’t some big fight, or some dramatic ending. It was quiet. Almost too quiet. Like I blinked and suddenly we weren’t… us anymore. And I don’t even know what “us” means right now. I still talk to them. Technically. The replies come, but they don’t feel like them. It’s like reading a text from a stranger who borrowed their name. Dry. Distant. Like they’re just checking a box, or replying out of habit, not heart.
It’s weird because I still care. I still look at the screen hoping maybe today’s the day they’ll actually say something real. Or ask how I am and mean it. Or remember how I always overthink things and say something to calm me down. But lately, nothing. They give me nothing. And I feel dumb for holding onto this silence, trying to pretend it’s just a phase. Like maybe they’re busy. Or tired. Or dealing with something they’re not saying. But then again… why am I always the one wondering? Why am I the only one noticing the weight of everything that’s missing?
I hate this. I hate how much I think about it, how much I re-read our past conversations just to feel close to something that’s clearly slipping away. I try not to be clingy, not to overstep, but damn—it hurts. It hurts to care this much about someone who barely reaches back. I never wanted a perfect friendship. I just wanted real. And I thought we had that. I really did. But now it just feels like I’m chasing a ghost of what we used to be. And the worst part? They don’t even seem to notice. Or maybe they do, and they just don’t care.
-S