I'm sorry for breaking your heart in the very way you warned me not to.
You knew before I did. You kept telling me that if I let my heart wander toward something uncertain, I would only end up here again. But I silenced you. I kept brushing you aside. I told you there was nothing to read between the lines—nothing to hold onto, nothing to lose.
Just the look in his eyes.
For a brief moment, everything became painfully clear.
One glance was enough to awaken an ache I hadn't felt in years. Not loud enough to make me cry—just heavy enough to make the world fall quiet. The kind of sadness that settles deep within your chest and asks nothing of you except to be carried.
I'm sorry for making you believe this time would be different.
Maybe I only fell in love with the possibility of a page that was never mine to turn.
Maybe that's why I've been playing Turning Page over and over in the car. Somewhere along the way, I started believing it was becoming my story.
But it never was.
Perhaps I only loved the idea of what could have been.
If I had only felt how it feels to be his.
I would have known what I've been living for all along.
I won't search his eyes for answers anymore.
I'll carry the silence instead.
And this time, I won't look back to the love I once held so quietly.
