Confessions of a Man

 I loved a girl who was everything I am—my reflection in another soul. We thought the same, laughed like echoes, dreamed in sync. She saw me, and I saw her, without the need for masks. It was rare. It was real.

But love, sometimes, isn’t enough.

She belonged to someone else—at least on the outside. A boy she once chose. A boy she felt bound to, not because he still held her heart, but because she felt she couldn’t leave. And so, she stayed… for him.

But she loved me. I know she did.

That love lived in the pauses between her words, in the way she looked at me when she thought I wasn’t watching. It lived in the ache she couldn’t speak aloud. And still, she stayed with him.

That choice shattered me. Because how do you grieve someone who’s still alive, still near, still loving you—but from a distance they won’t cross?

It hurts. Not because she didn’t love me—but because she did… and still couldn’t choose me.

Now, I carry that love like a ghost in my chest—unseen, but never gone. And maybe, in some quiet, sacred part of me, I always will.