by a girl who still believes in love

I’ve asked myself this question more times than I can count - why can’t we be friends? It sounds so simple, doesn’t it? A peaceful resolution. A gentle landing after the crash of what we once were. But love, I’ve learned, doesn’t fade quietly into friendship - it lingers, it stings, it stays.

You and I had that kind of connection that made the world feel smaller. Late-night talks that turned into early-morning laughter. Glances that said everything without needing words. We were more than lovers; we were best friends who fell a little too hard.

And now, when I think of “just being friends,” my heart flinches - because how do you go from being someone’s everything to being just someone they used to know?

I see you smile in photos, living your life, and I tell myself I’m happy for you - and I am. But there’s a tiny ache that whispers, that used to be me. I miss our comfortable silences, the inside jokes no one else would understand, and the way we could find each other in any crowd without even trying.

People say if you truly loved someone, you’d want them in your life - no matter what. But I think sometimes, love means letting go of the version of them you once held so tightly. Sometimes, being “friends” isn’t kindness - it’s cruelty disguised as closeness. Because how do you sit across from someone who still makes your heart race, pretending it’s just coffee and not the ghost of every kiss you shared?

Maybe one day we’ll meet again, with softer hearts and steadier hands. Maybe then, friendship won’t feel like settling for less, but like a new way of loving - quieter, safer, still somehow beautiful.

But for now, I think I have to love you from afar - not as a friend, not as a lover, but as someone who once made me believe in magic.

So, why can’t we be friends?

Because I still look at you and see forever.