I’m sorry.

Not in the shallow way people say it when they want to be forgiven. I mean it in the way that still makes my chest feel hollow every time I think about you.

I know I ruined it. I know I hurt you in ways that don’t just fade with time. I’ve spent more hours than I want to admit wondering how different things would be if I had loved you better… if I had been the version of me that you deserved.

We went two years without speaking. I don’t know how many more we’ll go. But somehow, I still look for you in songs, in random moments, in strangers’ eyes. And it still breaks me, knowing I’m probably the reason we’ll never have our second chance.

I loved you. Still do, in a way I don’t know how to stop. But I understand now that loving someone doesn’t guarantee you get to keep them.

If you ever do get married, I hope it’s everything you dreamed. I hope he’s kind. I hope he sees the parts of you I failed to protect. And if I’m not the one waiting at the end of that aisle I’ll cry. Quietly. Privately. Maybe not for you, but for the version of us that never got to be.

I just hope maybe foolishly that I’ll be invited. Even if I have to sit in the back. Even if you never turn to look at me.

I ruined too much to be the ending to your story. But God, I’m glad I got to be a chapter.

Milan Mj Milli