The Only Pieces of You I Still Have
Would you be angry if I kept rereading our conversations over and over again?
Would you be upset if I replayed all the songs you sang to me?
Would you mind if I kept revisiting the good days, the difficult ones, and every ordinary moment that somehow became extraordinary because you were there?
I know I shouldn't.
But what you left behind are the only pieces of you I still have. They're the only memories I can still hold on to.
Sometimes they keep me going. Other times they quietly drive me crazy, pretending that one day I'll wake up and be okay.
I thought it would just be hard.
I never imagined it could hurt more as time passed.
People say love is supposed to make you feel alive.
No one tells you it can also quietly unravel a person.
Silly, isn't it?
My heart misses you everyday. I tried not to.
But I don’t know how.
I still catch myself smiling.
Some days, I find myself listening to the songs you once shared with me — they keep repeating in my head, as if hoping they'll quiet the thoughts of you that never seem to leave my mind.
Instead, they bring you back even more vividly.
I catch myself smiling like a fool, looking up at nothing in particular, simply because, for a fleeting moment, I remembered you.
It's strange how someone can be gone, yet still feel so present in a melody. Even now, amid all the sadness,
I still get to feel the joy you left with me.
And for that — I am grateful.
What we had was beautiful.
Peaceful.
Gentle.
There are feelings that language simply isn't large enough to hold, and perhaps ours was one of them.
Strangely, the memories you left behind are also what help me move forward on the days I don't even want to. Not because they make the pain disappear — but because I don't want to abandon those times with you. Sometimes it feels as though moving on means leaving them behind, and I don't know if I'm ready for that. In a way, I'd also be leaving behind the version of myself that loved you so honestly.
She was honest.
She was brave.
She loved without asking for anything in return.
And oof' that was a first.
Do you remember when we talked about self-love?
I said:
"If you're ever going to give your whole heart to someone, don't forget to leave at least ten percent for yourself."
And you agreed.
I think I was only giving myself advice I never intended to follow — because when it came to you, I gave everything.
Every quiet hope.
Every prayer.
Every corner of my heart.
And despite everything, I don't regret it.
I just remembered something.
Long before I met you, I made a promise to myself.
I even whispered it to God — if I were ever to fall in love, let it be with only one person.
I wanted to love once.
Completely.
Faithfully.
Honestly.
Maybe that was naïve.
Maybe it was impossible.
But it was honest.
And if that love wasn't meant to become the life I dreamed of, I quietly promised myself I would never ask my heart to belong to anyone else. Not because I stopped believing in love — but because giving what was once yours to someone else would feel like betraying the love it once gave so completely.
Still, I don't think my love was wasted.
It found you.
For however brief a moment, it existed honestly.
It became real.
Maybe love isn't measured by whether it stays.
Maybe it's measured by how honestly it was given.
And mine was.
So if you ever wonder whether I loved you — I did.
My heart did choose you.
Not because it was easy.
Not because it lasted.
But because my heart knew no other way.
And if all I am left with are memories, then I'll keep them gently.
Not as chains that hold me back, but as proof that, once in my life, I loved someone with my whole heart.
I think that is something I'll always be grateful for.
It's painful to love someone and still be moving forward while saying goodbye — someone you never wanted to lose. But somehow, it's even harder to ask someone to stay when you already know they've chosen different path.
Thank you for your honesty.
But it hurts too and that's okay. You hold on to the memories as they slowly slip away, and a part of your heart aches with them.
You can’t force a person to love you just by loving them harder.
Love should never mean convincing someone to keep choosing you either.
To be exact, love is respect standing beside a person’s decision — it’s acceptance, and full understanding of the situation.
To love even through the uncertainty .
Love is also kind and gentle, as it should be.
Patience is trusting that healing takes its own time, and being gentle with yourself in that in-between.
Love can also mean letting go of that person, surrendering them back to the Lord.
The beauty of a heart that loved deeply is that, despite the hurt, it can also become a strength
.
With every smile, it also means honoring that love.
Sometimes the strongest thing you can do is stop fighting for a place in someone's life not because there's no room, but because you can't be in that room anyway.
It hurts, and maybe it always will.
But walking away with your self-respect brings a quieter kind of healing than staying where your love keeps growing alone.
Perhaps —
With gentle fingers, I wiped away the tear marks only I could see.
Proof that I have hurt, yes.
But proof, that I have loved.
My heart misses you a lot.
Thank you for being my safe home, back then.