The End of Us

And so… this is how our story ends. We’re back to being strangers again, completely disconnected, as if none of it ever happened. Neither of us wanted this, but we both knew it had to be this way… right? For the sake of both of us. But I can’t help asking myself—what does it all mean? All the good things, the memories we shared, everything we’ve been through. Does it all amount to nothing if this is how it ends? Why does it feel like it’s only bothering me? Does it not weigh on you too? Are you good? Are you happy that we’ve gone back to being strangers? I know I’m the one who packed up my emotions and walked away, leaving all of that behind. But your actions, your silence, make it seem like none of it mattered to you. Like we were never anything. Even though we never officially dated, you know exactly what I mean. Why did you do this to me? I always knew you didn’t feel the same way, that you never truly liked me—not the way I hoped you would. You loved the idea of me, the attention I gave you. But did you ever stop to think about us? About what we were or could have been? What am I to you? Do I hold any real place in your heart? Or was I just… a passing thought, a fleeting convenience, a joke? Were my feelings ever real to you, or were they something you brushed aside without a second thought? I’ve seen so many red flags in you, but I stayed anyway. I stayed because I thought, maybe one day, you’d change—not necessarily for me, but for yourself. Foolish of me, wasn’t it? To keep waiting for you, while you were waiting for someone else. I don’t know who she is, but whoever she is, I hope she can take care of your feelings in ways I couldn’t. I’m sorry I didn’t meet your expectations the way she does. She must be someone special to have won your heart so easily. Still, the thought of you with someone else—it breaks me. Imagining you smiling with her, building a life together, getting married, having kids who share your features… It’s like my heart shatters a little more each time that image crosses my mind. Because, once upon a time, I pictured myself in that role. That girl I imagined? She was supposed to be me. Now, I’m left here trying so hard to erase every memory we shared, to pretend I’m okay when deep down, I’m not. I keep telling myself I’ll move on, but it feels like I’m stuck in the shadows of what we used to have—of what I thought we had. I don’t hate you, I don’t think I ever could. But I hate the version of me who held on for so long, hoping for something that was never meant to be. Thinking back, I realize it was my fault for putting such high expectations on this. I convinced myself that all those moments, all those little things, meant we could be something more than friends. But the truth is, they didn’t. That was just me reading too much into everything. It’s my bad—I’ve always been this way. I tend to overanalyze even the smallest gestures, assigning them more meaning than they deserve. The slightest things people do for me often mean so much, maybe too much. I thought the same with you, and I let my feelings get the better of me. But now, I’m left wondering: Was I wrong about everything? Did I imagine the connection we shared? Or was it just never as deep as I thought it was? Everything around me sometimes reminds me of you—places we went, things we talked about, even the smallest details. It feels like no matter where I go, there’s always something that brings you back to my mind. Even the songs I used to listen to when I missed you—they don’t feel the same anymore. I can’t bring myself to play them without thinking of you, and when I do, it only hurts more. It’s like those songs now carry pieces of you, pieces of us, that I can’t let go of. I keep trying to move on, to separate myself from those memories, but they cling to me in ways I don’t know how to escape. It’s exhausting, but what hurts most is knowing I have to live with this while you’ve likely moved on without a second thought. What hurts even more is that I still remember that night—the night I decided to call you for the last time and finally clear things up. It was January 4th, 2025, at 2:00 A.M. That night, when you asked me, "Do you still have feelings for me?" It took me a second to answer because I was scared of rejection, but deep down, from everything I had felt from your actions, I already knew you were going to reject me anyway. And yet, I answered with "still." I didn’t want to admit it, but I had to. The truth was right there, and I couldn’t hide it any longer. But then, when you asked me if I wanted to know how you felt about me, it hurt. You said, "No, don’t wait for me," with so much excitement in your voice, almost as if this conversation didn’t matter at all. You giggled like it was nothing, and in that moment, my feelings—everything I had held onto—felt like a joke to you. It’s like my heart wasn’t even a part of this to you, just something you could brush aside without a second thought. I do forgive you, but those words, the way you said them, will forever linger in my mind. I’m not holding any grudges for you not liking me back; it’s just the way you treated me, like I was nothing. The way you rejected me—it hurts more than I can put into words. It felt like something inside me was cut deeper than I expected, all in an instant, in a flash. A part of me still aches from that moment. Even though I’ve tried to move on, that sting stays with me, reminding me of how it all ended. I don’t want to hold onto this pain forever, but right now, it’s hard to let go. I never thought this is how my 2025 would start. And looking at everything now, I can’t help but feel like this isn’t going to be my year. The weight of everything feels too heavy to carry, and I’m unsure where to go from here. I thought things would get better, but right now, it feels like the opposite. Maybe time will help, or maybe it won’t. I just wish things had turned out differently. And for some reason, I still wish we could find our way back to each other in the end. Even until this day, I haven’t stopped mentioning your name in my prayers. I’ve told Him about you, about what we shared, and how much I hoped things could be different. Foolish me, after everything, I’m still hoping for "us." I can’t seem to let go of that possibility. But let me hold on to this hope, even if it means more pain. Let me hurt until I can finally accept that there’s no more "us," that the reality of this situation has to be faced. Let life and time slap me with the truth, even if it stings. I choose to write the title "The End of Us," even though deep down, I don’t want this to be the way it ends for us. It hurts to think that this might really be the end, but even as I write these words, there’s a part of me still holding on to the hope that somehow, we can work things out. I want to believe that we can find a way back to each other, that things will heal with time and understanding. I know reality has a way of forcing us to face the truth, but that doesn’t make it easier. Sometimes, it feels like my heart is caught between the love we once shared and the harsh reality of what we’ve become. A part of me still yearns for the "us" that we used to be, but another part of me knows that holding on too tightly might only cause more hurt. Maybe I’m foolish for still hoping, for still wishing that something could change, that we could fix this. But isn’t hope the one thing that keeps us going, even in the face of all this pain? I’m not ready to completely let go yet. Not just yet. I’m trying to make peace with the idea that things might never be the same again, but it’s so hard to accept. I keep questioning what went wrong, wondering if there was something I could have done differently, something that could have changed the course of things. In the end, maybe this is just how our story is meant to unfold. Maybe we were only meant to be part of each other’s lives for a chapter, not a lifetime. But even if this is the end of us, I’ll always carry a part of you with me. Sunday, 5th January 2025: 2;26 PM