“To the Boy I Love, But Feel Distant From”

 — A Letter I Never Knew I’d Write

There’s a moment in every relationship when you realize the silence has become louder than the words. That’s where I am right now.

His name is Simo. And I love him — truly, deeply, frustratingly so. But love, I’ve come to learn, can be lonely too. Especially when it feels like you're the only one holding on.

When we started, it felt like magic. We talked for hours about everything and nothing. He'd make me laugh until I couldn’t breathe. He knew how to calm my storms and celebrate my quiet wins. I would find joy in even the shortest messages from him — a simple “Good morning, Sil” would light up my day.

But lately, things have changed.

The calls have become short. The texts come late — sometimes not at all. And when I speak, it feels like he’s only half-listening, half-there. I know he’s busy, and I try to understand. I really do. But how long do you keep understanding before your heart begins to break quietly?

I miss him. Not just his presence, but his effort. The way he used to care, intentionally. The way he’d ask how I really felt and wait for the answer. The way he’d remind me I mattered — not just with words, but with actions.

Now, I find myself waiting. For a reply. For a call. For a sign that I still cross his mind the way he floods mine. And the waiting? It hurts more than I expected.

I don’t want to give up. I don’t want to let go. But I also don’t want to be the only one fighting for something we once promised we’d both protect.

So here I am, writing this. Not as a goodbye, but as a quiet cry. A love complaint, maybe. The kind that doesn’t come from anger, but from longing.

Simo, if you ever read this — I’m still here. I still believe in us. But I need you to meet me where I stand. To reach back. To try.

Because love shouldn’t feel like chasing someone who once ran toward you.

With everything,
Silvia