The first night in weeks that I cannot seem to fall asleep, and naturally, my mind has begun wandering.

I have been imagining every possibility, replaying everything I have done, every word I have said, every choice I have made. The voice in my head has not been particularly kind tonight. Perhaps I am not an asshole, but sometimes I feel as though I am trying very hard to become one, if only to make all of this easier to bear.

And, inevitably, I found myself imagining the day we meet again.

Somewhere deep inside me, I still believe that we will. Almost irrationally, almost certainly.

I imagine you seeing me again after all this time. Perhaps you would stop me. Perhaps you would tell me that, somewhere along the way, you realised you still had feelings for me. That the things you said in your last message were not entirely true. That you regretted saying them, and that they had returned to you in quiet moments ever since.

And strangely, despite all the imagination in the world, I still do not know what I would say.

I would have to remind myself not to become excited too quickly. I would have questions for you, difficult ones. The kind that cannot be answered with beautiful words alone.

You asked me to move on, didn't you? What if I actually did? You might have lost someone who loved you with everything he had.

I know, somewhere beneath all this, that I still want you. I still want us. But if you ever came back, I would need time to trust you again.

You broke something in me the last time.

And no matter how desperately I might want to simply say yes, take your hand, and return to where we left off, I know I would have to slow down. I would have to be careful because I am terrified of living through the same ending twice.

I am angry with you, too. I know I cannot hate you. I have tried, and I cannot. But there is still rage in me.

You said things that cut deeply, things that may not be so easily undone. You cannot keep hurting me and then ask forgiveness afterwards by saying you regret it or that you did not think it through. Some words cannot simply be taken back once they have found their way into someone's heart.

And still, somehow, I love you. Perhaps that is the contradiction I cannot escape.

I once told myself that if it is not you, I would rather remain alone for the rest of my life. I meant it.

Of course, all of this rests upon one fragile belief: that one day, somehow, our paths will cross again, and that you will be the one to stop.

Because if you don't, I don't think I can try again. I have already tried everything I knew how to try, and what came back to me was excruciating.

So if I see you one day and you simply walk past me, I will let you. I will look at you, carry whatever feelings remain quietly inside me, and keep walking.

But if you ever stop me, if you ever reach for my arm and ask me to stay, I know myself well enough to admit that I would probably stop. I would be brave one more time.

But this time, it has to come from you. I cannot beg anymore.

I cannot keep forcing my way into a life that may no longer have a place for me. And I do not want to disturb your peace if you do not genuinely want me there.

Perhaps that will be the moment when I finally allow the last little piece of hope inside me to disappear.

For now, I am alright. Or at least, I have become very good at appearing so.

Lately, I don't feel much at all. There is simply this strange emptiness, this numbness, as though a life without you has lost some of its colour.

I am still working on myself. Physically. Mentally. Financially. I know I should do it for myself, and I will.

But sometimes I cannot help wondering what any of it is for when all I want is to have someone beside me to share it with.

I could become healthier. Wealthier. Stronger. More capable. And still come home to an empty room.

Perhaps that is what loneliness really is: not having no one around you, but having no one you instinctively want to turn towards when something beautiful happens.

When I see a beautiful view, I still imagine you beside me. When I eat somewhere wonderful, I still think about whom I would want sitting across the table. The answer remains you.

I love my family. I love my friends. But I know that, eventually, my parents will grow old, and my friends will build lives of their own.

And one day I will find myself standing somewhere beautiful with no one beside me to share it with. I don't want that. I want you.

Not simply because I am lonely, but because you were the first person in a long time who made loneliness feel as though it could disappear.

You brought colour back into things. You gave me someone I wanted to care for, and someone I wanted to be cared for by. To protect and be protected. To love and be loved. To share the extraordinary and the unbearably ordinary. The beautiful days. The ugly ones. The places where the world feels miraculous, and the moments when it feels cruel.

To be there when you need someone to remind you that there is still beauty in this world, even when you cannot see it yourself.

It is almost absurd how much a single person can inspire. I have written more because of you than I ever imagined I could write in my entire life, and somehow there is still more left unsaid.

It is nearly four in the morning now, and I am finally beginning to feel tired. I should sleep.

Sometimes I wish I could simply disappear into sleep and leave behind all the suffering, the uncertainty, the hope, even the future I once imagined with you.

But then I remember that the future is not written yet.

And if there is even the smallest possibility that one day we might find our way back to each other, I will keep living until that day arrives. Not because I know it will. But because I don't know that it won't.