I used to think love had a sound.
Not music. Not the kind they play in movies when two people finally kiss in the rain. Something quieter. Something almost invisible—like the pause before someone says your name, or the way your chest tightens when their phone lights up.
That was before I met you.
Before I learned that love, real love—the kind that ruins you—doesn't sound like anything at all.
It feels like silence.
The kind that stretches too long after you say "I miss you."The kind that answers questions you were too afraid to ask.
I should have known from the beginning.
You never said you loved me first.You said, "You're different."
And I—stupid, hopeful me—heard special.
That was the first lie.
Not yours. Mine.
I built something beautiful out of something unfinished. Took your half-answers and filled them with meaning you never gave them. I turned your attention into affection, your presence into promise.
You never asked me to do that.
That's the part that still keeps me up at night.
You didn't lie.
You just didn't stop me from lying to myself.
I remember the first time I realized something was wrong.
We were sitting side by side, close enough that our shoulders touched, but not close enough for you to notice when I leaned in just a little more. You were on your phone, smiling at something—someone—and I was watching you like you were the only thing in the room that made sense.
"Who are you texting?" I asked.
You didn't look up. "No one."
And I nodded like that answer didn't hollow me out from the inside.
Because I wasn't "no one."But I wasn't someone either.
That's the space you kept me in.
Somewhere in between.
Easy to reach. Easy to forget.
And God, I made it easy for you.
I laughed when you ignored me.I stayed when you pulled away.I told myself that patience was love, that understanding was strength, that if I just held on a little longer, you would finally see me the way I saw you.
But love isn't something you earn.
It's something you're given.
And you—you gave me just enough to stay.
That's what made it cruel.
Not the distance.Not the silence.Not even the way you could look right through me like I wasn't breaking in front of you.
It was the almost.
The almost-texts.The almost-touch.The almost-love.
If you had been completely cold, I might have walked away.
But you weren't.
You were warm in moments.Kind when it cost you nothing.Close—just close enough to keep me hoping.
And hope…hope is a dangerous thing when it has nowhere to land.
I didn't fall in love with you.
I fell in love with the version of you that only existed when I needed you most.
And the worst part?
I think you knew that.
I think, somewhere along the way, you realized exactly how much I was willing to give—
and how little you had to return.
And still…I stayed.