Between Dreams & Reality

Sometimes, the most precious things in the world are meant to fly free. They are yours for only a moment before they slip away, leaving you with a haunting sense of what-ifs. I’ve been in relationships before, but this time was different. This time, I was truly happy. She was like the scent of freshly brewed coffee in the morning. Falling for her felt like summer rain—at first, a light drizzle, then a hurricane; with thunder and lightning, intense and fast, meant to dishevel, but never to last.

I still remember the first time we spoke. There was an immediate connection, like an invisible thread tying us together, something strong and unbreakable. When I say unbreakable, I mean that no matter how hard we tried to distance ourselves or un-feel what was between us, the invisible string kept pulling us back together.

This was different from any relationship I had before. It made me reflect deeply and left me wondering. If she had stayed, maybe I could have loosened the threads enough to breathe, or more likely, I would’ve held my breath longer just to be another note in her melody. But we’ll never know now what might have been. She changed our fate, altered my path, my source of light, and my direction. I thought our story was written in the stars—unchanging, eternal, always leading us back to each other. Now, I’m with someone else, but I often wonder.

I never told her she was the tomorrow I always longed for. I never told her she was the flicker of sunlight against my indigo sky. I regret that. Now, her memory fills my heart with both smiles and sadness, a strange balance. I imagine she’s moved on, that she’s turned the page. But I wish things had been different—that our story hadn’t ended.

I didn’t need to prove my feelings to know they were real. What I experienced with her doesn’t compare to anything I’ve known before. Have you ever met someone who just gets you, understands you, completes you? Someone who, even in your darkest hour, makes you feel like you are exactly where you are supposed to be, doing exactly what you are meant to do? I can’t imagine it happens more than a few times through the course of our lives.

She freed my heart from the shackles of shame, allowing me to live again. When I was with her, everything else faded away, and nothing else mattered.

When I think of the love that could have been, her face is the one I see. There was a time when I envisioned a future with her by my side. We had a connection I’d never felt before, and when I was with her, I was the best version of myself. That rare, beautiful bond could have been part of my everyday life—at least, that’s what I believed. Our relationship felt solid, until one day, it wasn’t. She got cold feet. Maybe I asked for too much.

I like to think she loved me as much as she could at the time. But no—she said she was too young to love, or maybe she was too reckless to take me seriously. I think she took for granted how much she meant to me.

The hardest part of letting go was realizing what could have been. I’ll never run my hands through her hair. Never lie in bed with her next to me. Never hold her hand as we walk. Never rest my head on her shoulder to escape the noise of the world. Never kiss her in the morning, when her hair is all messed up. Sometimes, I wonder how it would feel to stroll with her through a gentle breeze. But then I think, perhaps it’s better to leave it at that—to just imagine the taste of her kiss.

I know she still has feelings for me. What’s more, I know I still have feelings for her. And if I’m being honest with myself, I will never not feel anything for her. Because the truth is, I’m not prepared to let go of her. I’m not prepared to say that everything’s perfect the way it is, because, as happy as I may be now, I miss her. I miss us.

So here I am, pen in hand, determined to write words that aren’t about her, words that outweigh the ones that are filled with nothing but memories of her smile and the soft touch of her hands. Yet, my mind keeps wandering back to her. She was home. No matter how far I run, it always feels like I’m running back home.

But I know that no amount of eloquent prose or poetic expression could ever truly capture the complexity of who she is or what she meant to me. She is more than words on a page, more than the sum of my writings. She was a person who once filled my life with color. Now, she’s a poignant shadow in my mind—a dream that may never become reality. And so, I confront the heartbreaking truth: in my dreams, she’s mine. But in my life, she’s just that—a dream.