When the mind remembers what the heart tries to forget !

 

 And Still, I Wait

But how do you go on after meeting someone who feels like home, when you have no key to their door?

When the timing is wrong but the connection is so achingly right?

You tell yourself stories.

You pretend the ache is just imagination.

You try to forget—but your soul?

It has a long memory.

Some nights I lie there, wide awake, not just thinking—but missing something I never really had.

Grieving a presence that’s not dead, just… distant.

Unreachable.

Is it fair? No.

Is it real? God, yes.

So I carry this feeling like a letter I’ll never mail.

And maybe one day you’ll read it anyway—in a look, a moment, a breath held too long.

And maybe we’ll never say it out loud.

Maybe we’ll go on with our lives, smiling in the right places, doing what we must.

But I know. And I think… you do too.

We felt it.

At the same time. In the same breath. But the world—it just wasn’t ready for us.

So we walk away, not because we didn’t care,

but because we did.

And if someday, in the quiet, you feel that ache rise again—just know:

You’re not alone in it.

You never were.

Did something here speak to you?

Leave a comment if you feel moved, or simply sit with me in quiet.

If you’d like to walk this road with me, follow Nomadic Grandmother for new stories.

— x Elsabe