BEFORE GOODBYE: The Space Between Sunrise and Midnight

People always say that time heals. What they don't tell you is that time is selective. It softens the sharp edges. It makes memories quieter. It teaches your heart how to carry what it cannot change. But it doesn't answer unanswered questions. It doesn't explain silence. It doesn't write the ending that never came.

---

Most days, she's okay now. She wakes up, goes to work, laughs with friends, buys coffee she doesn't need, and convinces herself that life has moved exactly the way it was supposed to. She no longer reaches for her phone expecting his name to appear. She no longer checks if he's been online. The songs don't hurt as much anymore. The places don't feel haunted. She tells herself she's over it.

And maybe she is. Mostly.

But every once in a while, something small slips through the cracks. A line from a movie. A rainy afternoon. Someone mentioning Before Sunrise. And suddenly she's back there again—not because she wants him back, but because her heart still stumbles over the way the story ended.

Or rather...

The way it never did.

---

She isn't holding onto hope anymore. Hope is different from curiosity. Hope imagines a future. Curiosity keeps looking at the past. Sometimes, late at night, she wonders what he would say if they ever met again.

Would he smile the same way?

Would he pretend nothing happened?

Would he apologize?

Would he explain?

Or would they simply become two strangers carrying the same memories in different ways?

She doesn't know.

And that's the hardest part.

---

People think closure is hearing, I never loved you.

Or, I made a mistake.

Or maybe, I've met someone else.

But she doesn't need a perfectly written speech. She never did. She just wanted honesty. One real conversation. One final page.

Something that said, "This is why."

Because when someone calls you his Celine, you naturally believe there's another scene after that. You don't expect the screen to go black.

---

There are moments when she catches herself rehearsing conversations that will probably never happen. She imagines running into him years from now. Maybe in a bookstore. Maybe at an airport. Maybe somewhere completely ordinary.

He'd smile first.

"So..."

"So."

"I've always wondered..."

"So have I."

And then they'd sit somewhere quiet. No accusations. No anger. No trying to change each other's minds. Just two people finally saying the things they never said when it still mattered. She imagines him telling her the truth. Not the polite version. Not the easy version.

The real one.

Maybe he was scared. Maybe he wasn't ready. Maybe he cared, but not enough. Maybe he loved the idea of them more than the reality.

Whatever it was...

She thinks she could live with it. Because the truth, even when it hurts, is kinder than silence.

---

The funny thing is, if he texted her today, she isn't even sure she'd want to start over. Life has changed.

So has she.

She no longer wants almosts. She no longer wants maybes. She no longer wants someone who speaks beautifully but disappears quietly. She wants someone whose actions never leave her guessing. Someone whose presence doesn't need to be translated.

Someone who stays. Still...

There is a small part of her that wishes—not for another chance—but for one last conversation. Not to fix the story. Just to finish the sentence.

---

Maybe that's what closure really is. Not forgetting someone. Not pretending they never mattered. Not waking up one day and realizing you've erased every memory. Maybe closure is simply reaching the point where the unanswered questions stop asking to be answered. She isn't there yet. She hopes she will be someday.

Until then, she'll carry this unfinished chapter with gentle hands. Not because she's waiting for him. But because some stories deserve to be acknowledged, even if they never receive an ending.

---

If she could say one thing to him—just one—it wouldn't be Why did you leave?

It wouldn't be Did you ever love me?

It wouldn't even be I miss you.

She would simply say,

"I wish we had said goodbye properly."

Because there is something unbearably human about wanting an ending that matches the beauty of a beginning. He once called her his Celine. And maybe, for one brief season, she really was. She only wishes they had given each other the kind of ending Jesse and Celine always did—Not forever.

Just one more conversation before walking away.

His Celine

There are people you meet because you choose to. And then there are people who seem to find you anyway.

She never believed much in fate. Life had taught her that things happened because people made choices, not because the universe quietly arranged them. She believed in hard work, in responsibility, in surviving difficult seasons. Romance belonged in books and films. Real life was bills, family, work, and pretending your heart wasn't as tired as the rest of you.

Then he came back.

Or maybe the better way to say it was that they found each other again. Years earlier, they had crossed paths almost by accident. It had been brief, ordinary even. Nothing dramatic happened. No sweeping declarations. Just two people who, under different circumstances, might have become something. But timing has always been one of love's cruelest characters. Life happened. They drifted apart.

She carried on.

She buried herself in work. She learned how to keep going even when she was exhausted. She became the person everyone could rely on, even on the days she secretly wished someone would ask if she was okay. Every now and then she'd wonder what had happened to him. Not enough to search. Just enough to remember.

Then one day, years later, a notification appeared. It wasn't grand. Just a simple message. And somehow, that was all it took.

---

Talking to him felt strangely familiar, like opening a book you'd forgotten you loved. There wasn't the awkwardness she expected after so many years. Instead, conversations unfolded naturally. Hours disappeared. One topic became another, movies, music, childhood memories, things they were afraid of, dreams they hadn't told anyone else.

Sometimes they'd stay awake long after they should have gone to bed, not because they had something important to say, but because neither of them wanted to be the first to say goodnight. She found herself smiling at her phone more often than she'd like to admit. It scared her. Not because of him. Because hope is a dangerous thing when you've spent years teaching yourself not to expect too much.

---

One evening he asked her if she'd ever watched the Before Trilogy. She hadn't.

"You should," he said.

"It's beautiful."

So she did. She watched Jesse and Celine meet on a train. She watched two strangers spend one impossible night talking as if they'd known each other forever. No dramatic plot, no villains, just conversation. Just connection.

When she finished the first movie, she understood why people loved it. When she told him she'd watched it, he smiled.

"You know..."

"What?"

"You're my Celine."

She laughed.

"What does that even mean?"

"It means you make me feel like she does."

She rolled her eyes and teased him for being dramatic. But later that night, lying in bed with the lights off, she replayed those words over and over.

"You're my Celine".

No one had ever compared her to someone like that. Not because Celine was perfect. But because she was seen. Listened to, chosen in conversation before anything else. For the first time in a very long time, she felt like someone wasn't only interested in her life. They were interested in her mind.

---

When they finally met again in person, it felt strangely easy. There was no pretending, no pressure. Just the quiet comfort of finally sitting across from someone whose voice she'd already memorized. The hours passed exactly the way they had in the movies they talked about. Morning coffee turned into dinner, dinner turned into walking, walking turned into conversations that neither of them wanted to end.

She noticed little things. The way he'd look at her before smiling. The way he'd remember details she'd forgotten she'd told him. The way silence between them never felt empty. It felt... safe. She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt safe with someone.

One evening, they crossed a line neither of them had spoken about before. Afterward, she rested her head against him. She didn't feel regret. She didn't feel fear. She simply felt... peaceful.

For someone who had spent so much of her life carrying the weight of everything alone, that feeling was almost unfamiliar. She thought maybe this was what coming home was supposed to feel like.

---

But stories rarely announce the moment they begin changing. At first it was small. Replies took a little longer. Plans became "maybe." Phone calls became messages. Messages became short.

Whenever she tried to understand where they were heading, he'd smile gently and tell her not to rush things. He didn't like labels. He wanted to see where life would take them. She wanted to believe him. She really did. So she stayed patient.

Because if someone had called her his Celine, surely that meant something. Didn't it?

---

Then one day she realized she was the only one asking questions. The only one reaching out, the only one trying to keep the conversation alive. She hated that feeling, not because it hurt her pride. Because it reminded her of every time she'd tried too hard to make someone stay. She promised herself she wouldn't do that again.

So she stopped. She waited. A day passed.

Then another.

Then another.

His last message remained exactly where he'd left it. She typed replies she never sent. Deleted them, typed them again, deleted them again. If someone wants to be in your life, she reminded herself, they know where to find you. So she let the silence become an answer.

---

Weeks later she watched Before Sunrise again. This time she noticed something different. The movie wasn't beautiful because Jesse called Celine extraordinary. It was beautiful because he kept choosing the conversation. Again, and again, and again.

Love, she realized, isn't hidden inside poetic words. It's hidden inside consistency. Inside showing up. Inside choosing someone when the excitement becomes ordinary.

She smiled sadly.

Maybe he really had seen her as his Celine. Maybe he meant it when he said those words. Maybe he simply wasn't ready to become her Jesse. People can be sincere in a moment and still be unable to carry that sincerity into forever. Both things can be true.

---

Sometimes she still thinks about him when she hears certain songs. Sometimes she wonders what would've happened if the timing had been different. If he'd been a little braver, if she'd asked fewer questions, if life had been kinder. But those thoughts don't stay as long as they used to. Because eventually she understood something Celine herself might have said. Some people enter your life to teach you what being seen feels like. Others stay to make sure you never have to question it again.

He was the first.

Somewhere ahead, still unwritten, someone else would be the second. And when that person arrived, he wouldn't call her his Celine just because it sounded romantic. He would choose her every ordinary Tuesday. Every difficult conversation. Every moment after the butterflies had settled. Because real love isn't a beautiful line from a movie.

It's what happens after the credits roll.

I don’t need you, I want you.

it took me a long time to reach this place where being on my own doesn’t scare me. where silence feels peaceful, not lonely. i’ve spent enough time figuring out who i am, what i want, and how to build a life that doesn’t crumble when someone leaves. i know how to take care of myself. i know how to enjoy things alone, how to find happiness in small, ordinary moments. i’ve learned to depend on myself, to stand tall even when everything else falls apart. i don’t need anyone to complete me. i’ve already done the hard work of making myself whole. i can go through the days without needing anyone’s presence to feel okay. i can handle things, survive things, rebuild things all on my own. i’ve done it before, and i can do it again. 

so when i let you in, it’s not because i’m lonely or broken or searching for someone to fill a gap. it’s because i want you here. because something about you feels right, not as a missing piece, but as a choice. i let you in because i genuinely want to share what i’ve built, not because i can’t live without you. i want you to understand that if i choose you, it’s because i see something real. something steady. i’m not asking to be saved or completed. i’m asking to be seen, heard, and understood.

i need you to understand something, i didn’t let you in because i needed to. i let you in because i wanted to. there’s a difference. i’ve been on my own for a long time, long enough to learn how to stand on my own two feet. i know how to take care of myself, how to build my peace, how to survive without anyone holding my hand through it. i’ve had days where it was just me, figuring things out, fixing what broke, learning to be okay even when everything felt heavy. and i did it. i made it through. so please don’t ever think i need you to fill any empty space in me. i don’t. i don’t need you to fix me or make me whole. i already did that for myself. i can live just fine without anyone, truly, trust me, i can.

but i chose to let you in. that’s the thing. i didn’t do it because i couldn’t handle being alone. i did it because you felt like someone worth sharing my peace with. because i wanted you to see the world i built for myself, not to take it over, but to be part of it.

so when i reach for you, when i open up to you, know that it comes from want, not need. it means i trust you with something i’ve protected for a long time. and that’s not something i do easily. if i let you in, it’s because i see something real in you, something that makes me want to stay, even though i know i’d be perfectly fine if i didn’t.

Goodbye

June 19th, 2025

"He'd be better off dead", words that I never dared say out loud but I'd be lying if I said that such morbid thought never once crossed my mind. That thought had been sitting heavy in my chest for a long time, it made my heart clench with immense guilt, but heaven knew I was never wishing harm. I was wishing for peace, for my dad, my mom, and myself. We were tired, that deep kind of tired that seeps into your bones and doesn’t go away with sleep, the kind of tired where you cry without making a sound, because you don’t even have the energy to fall apart properly. My mom, who had been the sole caregiver for him was wearing thin. My dad was probably just a shadow of who he used to be. We’ve been carrying this grief for so long, and now… now it’s real. And no matter how much we tried to prepare, nothing can prepare us for this kind of loss. We loved him, through the exhaustion, through the frustration, through the years of pain, we never stopped loving him. 

After years of watching my dad slowly fade under the weight of his illness, I thought maybe I had already grieved him. I thought maybe the long nights, the quiet tears, the helplessness… that was the grieving. But now that he’s really gone, the ache feels completely different, sharper, heavier, quieter, somehow. It’s not just sadness, it’s this strange, suffocating emptiness that creeps into the little moments. I miss him in the pauses, in the routines, in the way the house feels different. 

I carry guilt too, there’s so much guilt, for all the times I felt frustrated, for the moments I wished it would end just so my mom could finally rest, for not being there enough, even when I was doing everything I could. I hate that I ever thought he’d be better off gone… but it wasn’t because I didn’t love him. It was because I loved him so much, I couldn’t bear to see him suffer. Watching him slowly disappearing in pain and helplessness for years was such an emotional torture, and there was no end in sight. My mind started searching for anything that might have eased the suffering, even if it was the kind of thought that I didn't dare say out loud.

Now, I’m learning how to grieve him all over again, not just the illness, not just the slow fading, but the finality. The space he left behind, and still, in the middle of all the pain, I carry love, a love that’s been bruised but never broken, a love that stays in my voice when I say his name, in the parts of me that will always be his. Grieving him now is like learning how to live in a world that feels wrong without him in it, and somehow… I keep going because I know he’d want me to.

The grief follows me into rooms, lingers in my chest, and creeps into even the smallest of silences. It doesn’t look like crying all the time, it looks like pausing mid-thought because I remembered his voice, or feeling a sudden ache in the middle of a good day because I remembered he’s not here to share it with.

Rest easy, Pa. I know things were really hard for you. I know you were tired and in pain for so long, and I hated seeing you like that. but I want you to know that I never stopped loving you, not once. Even when it was hard, even when I didn’t know what to do. I’m sorry I couldn’t do more. I’m sorry if I ever seemed distant or frustrated. I was just scared. I was trying so hard to be strong. Thank you for holding on as long as you did. Thank you for being my dad.
You can rest now, okay? I’ll take care of mom. I’ll be okay someday.

I might really kill my ex

I might kill my ex, not because I still love him
but because he has ruined my life
in ways that no one ever thought he would’ve been capable of
I might kill my ex, not because I still love him

but because he has taken everything I have ever owned

stealing everything like a true criminal
I might kill my ex, not because I still love him
but all the trauma he has left in me is eating me alive
gnawing every piece left of me
Leaving my body crumbled
Shattered, melt into ashes
I might kill my ex, not because I still love him
but the idea of him still being alive

breathing, thriving
all sickens me to my core
I might kill my ex, not because I still love him
but because he simply doesn’t deserve it
he is not deserving of anything good in this world

I wasn't like this, I promise

Sometimes I wish we hadn't met yet, I wish I had been healed before I met you, I promise I wasn't like this.

I wasn't some damage goods that I am today. I want to be the best version of myself when I'm with you, for that's all you deserve to get. 

I will love you with every broken pieces left in me, the ones that you've been trying to put back together the second you learned my secrets.

It's a lot of work, I am never gonna lie, and the biggest fear of mine is that you'll eventually get tired and leave.

I wasn't like this, I promise.

I will love you with every ounce of my being if you let me. I will have all ears and eyes on you and you only, but bear with me for a little while, I am learning to get myself back up and I promise you it will all be worth it. 

Men are scary

I once went on a date with a guy I met online. We did not hit it off or so I believed. I politely told him I wouldn't go on another date and eventually stopped responding to his text as he began to grow really clingy and needy which made me uncomfortable. He would blow up my phone with messages and unsolicited calls, he stalked me online for an entire week.

I blocked and reported his social media accounts, told him off for the last time that he was making me uncomfortable. I've never been so appalled, men are scary.