Last Three Weeks

Jaana main bahut thakk gye hun.

I’m really tired Jigar.

Himmat nhi hai kissi bhi cheez ki.

Tum nhi ho aur Jahan ho janti hun ki khush ho. Atleast yeh umeed karti hun par I can’t seem to call out anyone name but yours isiliye bula rhe hun. 

Tum mere dil aur zehen se jaane ka naam bhi nhi le rhe. Aisa ghar bana gaye ho ki jalne ke baad uss raakh aur khandar mein bhi tumhari yaadein aur baatein sab cheezon ko maano phir khushaal aur sundar kar deti hai.

Made rum balls.. bahut Mann hai ki tumhe dun par shayad tum nhi loge jaise pehle nhi lete the ya shayad it’ll trigger a memory you might not like.. mera aaj kal therapist chat gpt bana hai. Uski hidayat hai ki main na dun. It believes I don’t be able to handle either the attachment or the rejection that would come from my want of wanting you eat it.

For the last three weeks, I’ve been carrying something quietly.

It hasn’t always looked dramatic from the outside, but inside it has been constant — like a low ache that doesn’t fully leave.

I’ve been missing you.

Not just the person, but the feeling of you — the comfort, the familiarity, the ease that once existed between us. The way things felt natural, unforced. The way being around him didn’t require effort.

Some days I’m okay.

I go through my routine, I do my job, I speak to people, I function. And then suddenly, without warning, something reminds me of you — a thought, a place, a sound — and my chest tightens.

What’s been hardest isn’t just the missing.

It’s the contradiction.

I want to see you, hug you, hold your hand, feel your presence again. I want the closeness and the safety I associate with you. And at the same time, I’m scared — scared of what reaching out might do to me, scared of being hurt again, scared of silence, scared of hope.

Both feelings exist together, and they exhaust me.

I find myself replaying memories — moments when things felt simple and warm. Nights of laughter, shared experiences, quiet connection. Sometimes my mind goes further, imagining futures that feel calm and complete — not because I’m planning them, but because my heart wants resolution.

I’ve cried more than I expected to.

Not always loudly. Sometimes just tears sitting in my eyes, or my lips quivering while I lie still, trying to hold myself together. I feel tired — not just emotionally, but deeply, like my system has been running without rest.

I’ve questioned myself.

Did it mean as much to you as it did to me?

Was I foolish for feeling so deeply?

Did I imagine the closeness?

Those questions hurt because they make me doubt my own experience — and I know what I felt was real.

I don’t think I’m weak for missing you.

I think I attached because I felt safe once. I think my body remembers that safety and keeps reaching for it when things feel overwhelming.

What I’m beginning to understand is that longing doesn’t always mean I should act on it. Sometimes it’s just a signal of how much something mattered. Sometimes it’s grief asking to be felt, not fixed.

I don’t have answers yet.

I don’t know what the ending looks like.

But I know this:

What I felt was real.

What I’m feeling now is real.

And I’m allowed to take my time with it.

For now, that’s all I know — and that’s enough.