Dijon
I did not notice the exact moment you became unreachable. It was not a single event, not a clean ending I could point to and say, this is where it stopped. It was quieter than that. Messages unsent. Words rehearsed but never delivered. A slow realization that whatever door once existed between us had closed, not with a sound, but with a kind of final stillness. And yet, longing is stubborn. It does not disappear just because it is no longer convenient to feel it. It lingers in small, unguarded moments. In the spaces between tasks. In the way my mind wanders back without asking for permission, always choosing you as its destination. So I find other ways to cope. I press play. It always begins with a song you loved. One you once told me about with that unfiltered excitement, your words spilling faster than they could organize themselves. You would talk about everything. The meaning hidden between the lines. The history of the singer. The quiet heartbreak or rebellion that shaped the song...
