it’s a strange kind of sadness when you think you knew a person. when you were certain you knew them completely, that you would know them forever—and then one afternoon, without warning, you look at them and realize: who is this person? and to that question, you can’t or maybe don’t actually want to give an answer. strangers. that’s what they’ve become. the same connotation to a person passing in the streets, to the woman in front of you at the supermarket checkout. but you knew them. once, you did.
there’s a fear in imagining the day you’ll pass each other on the street, or in some coffee shop, and pretend you’ve never met. that you were never anything at all. it’s funny—when you’re a child, your mother jokes about this, kind of, my mom certainly did. when you and your siblings get too loud in public, she says she doesn’t know you. “who are these children? not mine.” it’s the kind of thing friends say on night outs too, at least once before the evening ends: “if they ask me, i don’t know you.” classic deflection. a way to distance yourself from embarrassment or chaos. it’s a must, there is no night out without this phrase. it’s something innate in us, we have to hear it at least once when we are surrounded by other people. maybe we all fear this, losing the knowledge we had for someone, and therefore we put our hands forward—no one wants to be “cringe” and fall face first, right? that fucking word, i hate it so much, i am sure it’s the loss of us. “apathy is hot.” ehm. no. empathy is hot. thank you, there is no room for discussion, bye.
and the sad part is, it’s not a joke anymore. the recognition is gone. and to be clear—it’s not that they shouldn’t change, change is good, everyone changes, i certainly did, maybe that’s why i don’t recognize you anymore. i don’t know you anymore. and you are drifting apart in a way that feels irreversible.
everyone leaves eventually. i understand that. it’s fine, it should be fine, a normal thing, something i expect from everyone. i know they will, everyone does, and i’m okay with being with myself. but from you? that’s the part that stings. that’s the sad surprise. it isn’t that you were supposed to be the one who never left—maybe no one is promised that kind of permanence—but you becoming a stranger? i didn’t see it coming. maybe i should have.
maybe it’s me. actually, it’s probably me. no, it is certainly me. because if i’m being honest, that relationship was unilateral. it existed mostly on your terms, from your side. you cared only when your problems surfaced, when they became visible enough to demand my attention, because who else would have been always there? but afterwards? i became invisible again. you let me fade into the background of your life, a constant you took for granted. always there when you needed me, gone the moment you didn’t. maybe that was a taste test. maybe that was always what this would become—a slow dissolving, a preview of the end.
that’s one of the things that scares me. maybe i won’t ever find someone who truly knows me, or someone i can know entirely in this world. maybe i’m bound to remain alone forever—because honestly? i don’t think i even know myself that well. and i don’t think i’ll ever let anyone know me in that way, because i’m afraid of their leaving. it’s paradoxical, yes. it’s like getting married while already fearing the divorce. it makes no sense. and here i am—the living paradox. i don’t let people know me; i know that. it’s difficult for me to open up. if there isn’t the right vibe, if the level of our connection hasn’t reached a certain depth, i simply won’t. but you can, of course you can, and must, talk about yourself. i always say the world is egocentric, but maybe i’m the one feeding the fire, asking questions so i don’t have to answer any. hypocrisy, my closest friend. because then i get to say how self-centered everyone else is.
i always thought of us like water and air. not opposites. not enemies. no—air is part of water. you can’t have one without the other. water is actually made out of air. we were like that once. coexisting. entwined. existing within each other. i never questioned it because it felt elemental, as natural as breathing.
but maybe i misunderstood the metaphor. maybe i ignored the science. we were bound by the strongest covalent bonds—polar and unyielding, the kind you learn about in chemistry class and assume can never break. so strong, it felt impossible to break them. the kind of connection that holds the world together. and yet, somewhere along the way, the molecules twisted. the angles shifted. the charges destabilized. and we’re splitting apart, as cleanly as hydrogen from oxygen, as if we were never meant to stay together at all.
sometimes i think what makes it all so unbearable isn’t the leaving itself, but the silence that follows. it’s when you see a meme and can’t send it to them, because they might not understand it anymore. is when you hear your song and would send them the screenshot of it, but your phone is too heavy and a sigh is the action you take instead.
there’s cruelty in how memories stay loyal to the people who aren’t. i used to think forgetting was the hard part, but i was wrong. remembering without purpose is worse. it’s like carrying a photograph you can’t throw away, even though it no longer looks like the person you knew.
i used to believe you could never leave me.
i don’t believe that anymore.
