Dear Diary,
Today was one of those days where work consumed me entirely. From the moment I stepped into the firm, it was a whirlwind — meetings, deadlines, documents, endless calls. I barely had a moment to breathe. It was exhausting, but in a strange way, it felt… necessary. Necessary to keep my mind distracted, to keep my heart from wandering into places it shouldn’t.
When the day finally ended, I packed my things, feeling the weight of fatigue on my shoulders, and booked a cab. I stood there waiting, watching the city lights flicker against the darkening sky, and when my ride arrived, I sank into the seat with a sigh of relief. That’s when it hit me — today, for the first time in a long while, I hadn’t thought about her at all.
And the thought shook me.
Why?
Was it because I was moving on? Was it because some part of me had quietly accepted the truth — that she’s not coming back? Or was it simply that my mind had been too busy to feel her absence?
The questions kept coming, but the answers… they never do. And in that restless space between doubt and longing, I did the only thing I knew how to do. I called her.
I called her because I missed her — not just the idea of her, but her. The way her voice carries warmth. The way her laughter feels like sunlight breaking through clouds. The smile I can hear even when I can’t see it.
She picked up.
And for a moment, the distance didn’t feel so far. We talked. We laughed. We wandered into memories, into “what ifs” and “remember whens.” But as always, no matter how far the conversation traveled, it eventually circled back to where it always ends — point zero.
Because here’s the truth: we’re both standing at the edge of something real. She’s on one side, I’m on the other, and between us is a single step — just one — that could take us into a place of trust, companionship, love, honesty, and loyalty. But we are both too afraid. Too afraid of the risk. Too afraid of the vulnerability. Too afraid of what might happen if we leap… and fail.
I miss her. God, I miss her in ways words barely touch. There’s a part of me that still sees her the way I did when everything felt new — when just the sound of her voice could undo my whole day. I love her with something pure, but I also lust her — not in the careless way of passing lust, but in the deep, unshakable way where you know this feeling belongs to one person only.
She is mine. I am hers.
At least… that’s how my heart still dares to believe.