Releasing the Invisible Thread
There’s a kind of heartache that lives beyond words—an ache that feels like an invisible thread, delicate yet unbreakable, pulling me toward someone no longer near.
It doesn’t follow logic; it doesn’t need to. It’s woven into my being, stitched somewhere between memory and hope.
I think of you often—not just you, but moments that feel like you.
The way sunlight warms my skin on quiet mornings.
Songs that pause me mid-breath.
Laughter that carries a familiar echo.
It’s in the things I wish we had done, the conversations we never finished, the love I imagined unfolding in joy, in play, in the quiet rhythm of two hearts finding their own language.
I see your eyes sometimes—the way they softened when you looked at me, like they knew something I hadn’t yet discovered. That image flickers through my mind each day. A tear forms, and I whisper to myself, Don’t worry, you’ll feel this again someday.
But the ache remains, gentle yet unrelenting, like a heartbeat that refuses to quiet.
If I could have a redo, oh, how my heart would leap at the chance. But deep down, I know this time apart has been necessary.
Space for growth, for clarity, for seeing what lay beneath our connection—something I wasn’t ready to understand before.
You made me hopeful.
Not because you promised me anything, but because your presence felt like home.
You didn’t have to say much—the way you carried yourself, the energy you moved with, was enough. Even now, as I write this, I feel myself hesitate. Why do I feel this so deeply?
Am I foolish? Maybe. But this... this is something else. This is a love that stretches beyond reason—a quiet pull that lives in the spaces I can’t explain.
Our time together was brief, yet the imprint you left feels infinite.
You stirred something inside me—a deeper knowing, a quiet voice I hadn’t yet learned to trust. Fears I had buried surfaced, doubts I had ignored whispered louder.
Yet through all of it, I felt you—steady, like a hand reaching out in the dark.
It doesn’t make sense, yet I want to believe it was real.
Was it my heart holding on to a story?
Or can I trust that this feeling—or something even greater—will find me again?
It’s hard to release a love that felt unfinished—a love I built from fleeting moments and quiet imaginings.
But even in this ache, there’s gratitude. Because you cracked me open.
Somehow, some way, you reached the tender places I had guarded for so long.
And now, I bleed for you. I ache for you. I’ve spent so much time trying to fix what feels broken inside me, believing if I could just get it right, I’d be worthy of you.
Because you deserve that.
You deserve tenderness, nurturing, and love as pure as the light I saw in you.
I tear up as I write this because I don’t want it to be over.
Our connection feels like a melody that never resolved—notes suspended in the air, still waiting to find their way home. And yet, if this is the end, I will hold it close.
Maybe I’m not clinging to you; maybe I’m holding on to the version of myself I became in your presence—a version that felt softer, freer, more open to love.
I am different now.
A changed woman.
A changed soul.
And though your presence in my life was brief, you remain woven into me.
Love arrives when you aren’t looking, and when it does, I hope I meet it with the tenderness, patience, and care it deserves.
Until we meet again—in this time, in this city, or another lifetime.
With love and gratitude,
Minhaj
