It’s really hard to explain, but when you left it’s like you took a piece of me and bring it with you.


You left a couple years ago, but I’m still feeling like a vital piece of who I was, was missing.


I still have all stuff that you gave to me. Your sweatshirt is still in my closet, untouched, and I just can’t throw it.


All roses you gave me, are still in my room. Everything you ever gave to me is still here, I feel some kind of connection with all that stuff.
Like you are still here.


Sometimes I visit places that we used to call ours. I don’t know why. I mean, I know, I’m still hoping that I will se you there. I know, I’m stupid.


When I go out with my friends, I’m hoping that you will come from nowhere. But I never see you out there.


Your name stopped being mentioned in conversation.  People stopped wondered about where you were or what you were doing.

Everyone except me.


And every birthday, I want to call you, but… I’m afraid to discover you hadn’t missed me at all.

And on every my birthday, I’m hoping that you will call, but it’s been a long time since you called me.


But one day, when I went to our places, on our date, you were there.  I felt whole for the first time in while like something in my life wasn’t missing anymore.


You were the same, beautiful as always, and mine as always. I grabbed your hand and kissed you, and it felt like the whole world has stopped.


You and me, again. Finally, that day comes.


I wasn’t waiting for anything. You came back. You came back to me.


While many couldn’t understand and there were moments I couldn’t either I never stopped believing you’d find your way back to me.