Not all goodbyes come with words.
Not all endings announce themselves with doors slammed or hearts broken.
Some goodbyes are quiet. Subtle. Almost invisible until you realize they've already happened. That's how it was with us.
There was no fight. No dramatic scene where everything fell apart at once. We didn't say, goodbye, or this is over. We simply stopped being the same. Slowly, quietly, without warning, our connection shifted from closeness to distance.
I remember noticing it first in the small things. The delayed replies. The laughter that didn't feel the same. The way our conversations started to require effort instead of flowing naturally. Little things that didn't seem like much until they added up into something undeniable.
And one day, I realized: we had become strangers.
Not the kind of strangers who didn't care, but the kind who knew too much about each other to pretend we hadn't mattered.
There's a strange ache in that realization. The kind that doesn't scream or demand attention. The kind that sits quietly in your chest and follows you around like a shadow. I didn't hate it, exactly. I didn't blame you. But I couldn't ignore it either.
Sometimes, I still catch myself thinking about how we were once inseparable. How laughter and silence and shared secrets made our friendship feel infinite. And then I remember the quiet goodbye that came without words, and it feels like a shadow passing over a bright memory.
Not all goodbyes are loud. Some are subtle. Some are felt in the spaces that used to be full. Some are carried silently, and only later do you realize they've changed everything.
Even now, I can feel that quiet goodbye in the corners of my mind. And even though it hurts, even though it leaves me missing what once was, I understand it.
Because not all endings need a bang. Some are just a soft, gentle fading into what comes next.