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Seven months.
I keep thinking about how much time that actually is.
Seven months since I last had you in my life, and somehow I still have things I want to tell you.
You don’t know me anymore.
You don’t know that I’m doing my master’s now. You don’t know that I finally got an engineering job, designing metal structures, and that sometimes I still can’t believe I actually made it here.
You know how hard i worked.
It’s strange, growing into a version of myself that you’ve never met.
And I wonder if you’ve done the same.
I wonder about her sometimes.
I don’t know when she came into your life. I don’t know if she was already there when I was, and I don’t know what the two of you are now.
But she looks so much like me.
Almost too much.
Sometimes I look at her and it genuinely unsettles me. Not because I think she’s trying to be me. She isn’t. She’s her own person.
But there are pieces of my face in hers. Little things that feel familiar enough to make me wonder if you notice them too.
And then I hate myself a little for wondering.
Do you really love her?
Are you really happy?
Do you look at her and feel completely sure?
Or does some tiny part of you ever remember me?
I know seven months is enough time for someone to become a stranger.
Maybe I’m already one to you.
But you’re not completely a stranger to me yet.
And I think that’s the part I’m still trying to understand.
I’m not waiting for you. I’m living. I’m changing. I’m becoming someone I’m proud of.
But if I’m being completely honest, there’s still a small part of me that hopes we’ll find each other again someday.
Not because I want things to go back to how they were.
I just wonder what it would feel like to meet you again now.
After all this time.
After everything.
yours, pricolici. I still love you, they are not the same.
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