She was the question he answered with ego.
Now he spends his silence trying to decode what he destroyed.
She was the fire he poured water on.
Only to realize… he was always cold.
She was the door that opened when no one else did.
He chose to walk away — and now, all he finds are walls.
She was the poem he never read till the ink bled into goodbye.
Now, every page screams her name —
But she’s already the last chapter he’ll never rewrite.
She was the prayer. The storm. The shelter.
And he…
was just a riddle she solved too late.
And maybe someday,
he’ll cry not because he lost her…
but because he’ll never know how deeply she loved him.
Not all riddles are meant to be solved.
Some are meant to haunt the one who left them unanswered.”
— M.j.P
Notes I Never Sent 