I never reached out.
Not because I didn't want to. God, I did. Every single night. Every time something small reminded me of you. But I didn't.
And that silence? It wasn't peace.
It wasn't pride either.
It was pain. It was my way of screaming quietly into a world that had already gone quiet on me.
You probably thought I was over it. That I moved on. That I didn't care anymore. Or at all. That maybe I forgot.
But that's the thing about silence —
It hides everything.
All the unfinished words. All the things I rehearsed in my head and never sent. All the days I sat with my phone in hand, staring at your name, and then locking the screen again.
My silence wasn't distance. It was restraint.
I was trying not to bleed where no one would bother cleaning up. Not even you.
It was me loving you in a way that didn't beg. In a way that tried to respect the wall you built, even if it killed me. And it didn't matter anyway.
I wonder if you noticed.
If you ever paused and thought,
"He hasn't messaged."
" He hasn't said anything."
"He must be fine now."
But I wasn't. I'm not.
There were so many moments —
when I wanted to say something, anything.
Just a "hey." Just a "do you think of me too?"
But then I'd remember how silence was all you ever answered with. And I matched it. Not out of spite. But because I had no other choice.
You never broke the silence either. And I guess that was your answer.
One I still struggle to accept.
Still, my silence was never empty.
It was filled with:
"Please don't forget me."
"I'm still here."
"I miss you."
"I wish you'd ask if I'm okay."
"I wish you'd say you miss me too."
I was loud inside. Loud with longing, desperation. With words I never had the courage to say again — because saying them even once already felt like too much.
I think part of me was hoping you'd hear what I wasn't saying.
That maybe… you'd feel it. That silence would say more than a thousand messages could.
That maybe you'd remember the way I once used to talk to you nonstop, and notice the difference now.
Notice the space.
Notice the ache.
But maybe you didn't. Or maybe you did, and just chose not to respond.
I'll never know.
And maybe that's what silence truly is—
Not the absence of sound.
But the absence of answers.
And so, I lived in that space.
The empty in-betweens.
Where everything I felt had nowhere to go.
Where even breathing felt like it carried weight.
There were nights I whispered your name into my pillow, just to remember how it used to sound when it belonged somewhere.
Mornings I stared at the sky and wondered if, miles away, you were seeing the same shade of blue.
Or if you'd already forgotten how we used to find meaning in clouds.
Some people think silence is dignity. Some think it's strength.
But mine?
Mine was made of exhaustion.
I got tired of being the only one trying.
Of always typing and deleting.
Of hoping and hurting.
Of checking my phone for nothing.
So I chose silence.
But it wasn't noble.
It was survival.
It was the only thing I had left that didn't cost me more of myself.
I stopped texting. But that didn't mean I stopped feeling.
I stopped calling. But that didn't mean I didn't want to hear your voice again—
even just once.
God, even just a "Hi."
Even if it came too late. Even if it meant nothing to you now.
Because to me, it would've meant everything. The whole freaking world.
But it never came.
And so I kept being quiet. And the longer I stayed silent, the heavier it became. The more distant you went.
And yet, I carried it.
Because sometimes, when your heart is broken enough times,
even silence feels safer than hope.
Still—
on some nights, I wonder if you ever felt it.
If my quiet ever reached you like a soft echo in the back of your mind. If you ever paused for a moment, just a second, and thought,
"He's thinking about me, isn't he?"
Because I was.
I am.
Even now, under all this silence,
you live in my mind like a sentence that never found its ending.
And I don't know how to finish it.
Maybe I never will.
So if you're ever wondering why I never said anything —
why I didn't fight, or beg, or break the silence—
this is why.
Because my silence was never nothing.
It was everything. It was the last thing I had left that still belonged to me.
And I gave it to you, hoping you'd hear it.
Hoping you'd feel it.
Hoping…
You'd say something back.
But you didn't.
And now, maybe you never will.