Thresholds on a date.

I didn’t know dates could become thresholds until today arrived carrying your name in its mouth. A year ago, on an evening so ordinary the universe quietly shifted beneath my feet. I was only trying to escape the noise of the world when fate sat beside me disguised as a stranger on a phone call, a passing greeting, a conversation I almost didn’t entertain. And somehow, from that tiny moment, you threaded yourself into the fabric of my life so gently that I never noticed where “me” ended and “us” began. I think that is why today hurts so softly. Because somewhere between misty morning drives, unfinished fights, warmth hidden beneath cold walls, and the terrifying comfort of always finding our way back, I loved you beyond caution. I knew you were never mine to keep, but loving you felt so natural that I forgot some beautiful things are only temporary. So I loved you carelessly, deeply, completely like the moon loves the sea, even knowing it can never truly touch it. And maybe that was my tragedy: I kept mistaking borrowed time for forever. Now you are gone, and everywhere I look carries the ghost of you in quiet songs, late nights, unfinished sentences, and the kind of silence that hurts the chest. Sometimes I think love does not really leave. It simply changes form. Becoming memory. Becoming ache. Becoming a date circled quietly in the soul forever. And maybe a part of me will always wait for you in the softest corners of my heart, even if you never come back. Even if you were never really mine at all.