There is a heavy, one-sided weight in a memory that only one person chooses to carry. It feels like shouting into a canyon and waiting for an echo that never comes, or keeping a candle lit in a window for a traveler who has long since forgotten the way home. To miss someone who doesn't miss you back is to live in a conversation that has already ended. A quiet, lingering ache that remains even when the other person has moved on to a world where your name is no longer spoken.
The hardest part of moving on is accepting that you are mourning a loss that the other person doesn't even feel. It is a solitary grief, a private ritual of letting go that requires no audience and receives no comfort. But perhaps, in the act of missing you so deeply alone, I am finally learning how to fill that space with my own strength. Turning a one-sided longing into a bridge that leads me back to myself.
