𝓌.

it’s your birthday soon, and you’ve been lingering in my mind for too long now—like a song i once loved but can no longer bear to hear. my heart aches, not for what we were, but for the illusion i once held so tightly. the image of loving you, of loving so freely that i was ready to shout it from rooftops, to step into the light, to be proud. with you, fear had no weight. with you, love felt possible.

your presence was electric, a current i couldn’t resist. you made me feel things i never knew i could, never knew i was allowed to. i fell for you, for the idea of you, hard and fast—no brakes, no hesitation. the space between us was always heavy, charged, but never with fear. it was thick with everything we couldn’t say, everything we refused to name. you weren’t my first, but you were the first who made me believe it was mutual. or so i thought.

i loved your voice—the way italian spilled from your lips like a song, the way english stumbled, soft and uncertain. i loved your wild hair, the way your skin felt against mine, the depth of your eyes—dark as bitter chocolate, sweet in a way that lingered too long.

i can still taste the wine you swore i’d love, still feel the pulse of music as you took over the dj booth to play my favorite songs. i can still remember how the world seemed to still when brividi played, how we let ourselves move with it, innocent yet guilty, lost in a moment that was never truly ours.

and then, the message at the airport. i remember how it made my heart race, how it filled me with something dangerous—hope. i thought i was loved. i thought we were something. the late-night calls, the stupid selfies, the videos of your cat meant to bridge the miles between us. it felt like the beginning of something real. but i was the only one who believed in the story we were writing.

when you first spoke of him, i told myself it didn’t matter. he was nothing. but then, he became everything. slowly, our conversations—once full of quiet longing and shared secrets—became endless monologues about him. the way he looked at you, the way vodka burned when he poured it for you, the way his jokes made you laugh. and still, i lied to myself. still, i pretended it was nothing. until it wasn’t. until you told me you were in love with him.

my heart splintered, but i couldn’t pick up the pieces, too afraid to admit they had been broken all along. and yet, the worst was still to come.

did you know i had a letter for you? i spent weeks crafting every word, shaping my feelings into something tangible, something undeniable. i was ready to tell you i loved you. that i wanted to be with you. but then brussels happened. and nothing was ever the same.

seeing you when i landed felt like coming home, like finding the place i had been searching for all my life. but i was a fool to think you had been searching for me too.

god, i was so loud. for someone who had spent years hiding, i was screaming. i was burning. with you, i wanted to be seen, to be known. with you, there was no shame, no silence. i was ready to exist, wholly and without apology.

and then that night. the night you left parliament early to get drunk. you told me we would meet later, and i believed every word. i called—five times? ten? more? all i remember is standing outside that godforsaken building, waiting, knowing deep down that you weren’t coming. i swallowed my tears, forced a smile, pretended i was fine.

hours passed. you never called. i sat alone in a bar, sipping that awful orange soda, the taste of sobriety bitter in my mouth. i waited at a bus stop, heartbroken and lost in a city that suddenly felt like a stranger. it was late. i had nowhere to go. no one to call. when i finally made it back to the hotel, your roommate told me you had never returned to your room. that’s when i knew. that’s when the last illusion crumbled.

the next morning, your message—we need to talk. and still, some foolish part of me hoped. did you know i carried that letter with me? it sat in my bag, unread, unspoken.

we sat on the parliament floor, in that colorful space by the smoking room. the ground was hard, uncomfortable, but i didn’t care. i was with you. my fingers wove through your hair, braiding strand by strand, as you told me about him. about that night. about how it wasn’t what you imagined, how you cried in his bed when he didn’t even check on you after. how it left you hollow. but you weren’t the only one who wept that night.

i wanted to scream at you. to tell you how you had wrecked me. how i hated you for what you had done. but i loved you. i loved you so much i could barely breathe. so i held you as you cried, because it was the only thing i could do.

two and a half years later, and you still live in my mind. i even thought i had moved on. how naive. but then, someone else hurt me, and i realized—I never truly healed from you.

did you know i went back to that city? alone. i walked the same streets, stood under the same sky. and somehow, i fell in love with it. i reclaimed it, piece by piece. you hated that place. so i learned to love it without you. i call it home now. every time i return, i feel like i’m reuniting with the part of me i lost there.

and you? you are nothing but a ghost now. a whisper of what could have been. i hate you for what you did to me. because every time i fall for someone new, i wonder what we could have been if you had just chosen me. but i don’t want to think about you anymore. i don’t want to carry you in my mind.

so celebrate yourself on your big day. but leave me alone. i am done waiting. one day, when our paths cross again, i will be in love with someone who does not use me to understand themselves. i will love without fear.

and though you broke me, i must thank you. because you showed me it was time to stop hiding. i have never been prouder of who i am.

and when you wake up next to him, i hope you remember the love you betrayed. but do not come back. not when it gets hard. not ever.

i am already beyond you.