Maybe Hearts Were Made To Be Broken

Letters to Her I Never Sent

You said I’d forget you.

But it’s been 27 days, 6 hours, and 15 minutes.

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30th July, 2025 — 20:59

Dear Tóké,

I write this with teary eyes and a body that still remembers.

I loved what happened between our hello and goodbye.
I loved how your eyes reminded me of sunsets on our evening walks.
I loved your nerdy tardiness.
I miss the “hi’s,” the “bye’s,” and every “I love you” you ever said.

I miss how you taught my heart to ache and ache for you alone.
I loved that I was your who, your why, your “no one else.”
I loved the feeling of choosing you a thousand times and meaning it.

I still hear echoes of your giggles in silence.
And for a moment, I forget you're not here.
You made me feel something and everything all at once.

Our story was mine. And it was ours—or so I thought.
I held on to it like it still meant the same to you too.
Maybe that’s where I got it wrong.

Because while I was busy holding on, you were slowly letting go.

I'm lying here alone, staring into the night sky we once made wishes to.
I know the truth now, Tóké. You loved him more.
And it still haunts me.

There was no me without you.
And in trying to find myself in you, I nearly lost it all.

Maybe hearts were made to be broken.

So don’t wonder why, Tóké.
Why I won’t say goodbye.
Why I won’t even cry.
Why I still look for myself in the spaces you left.

"Ever has it been that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation."—Khalil Gibran