It Mattered

One of the hardest things to make sense of is how something that felt so full, so aligned, can still come to an end.

It could be something small—a misunderstanding that never got cleared up, a shift in timing, something left unsaid that kept growing in the quiet.

Or maybe it was something heavier—a hard conversation, a moment that broke trust, a change in what you both needed.

Whatever it was, it happened. And even if no one meant for it to fall apart, it did.

It started out soft, easy, safe. The kind of connection that feels written, meant to be. You talked about everything and nothing. You shared little routines, small jokes, familiar stories. You felt like yourself, and that felt rare. It wasn’t perfect, but it was real. You thought it had a future. You thought you were building something.

And then something shifted. Maybe the calls got shorter. The replies came slower. Maybe something big happened that neither of you knew how to handle. Or maybe it was just the slow fade of two people trying, but still slipping apart.

One day you were planning things, and the next you are rereading old messages. You still find yourself thinking about them, wanting to let them know when something reminds you of them. You check your phone and have to stop yourself from texting them, you remember you don’t do that anymore. You lie awake wondering if they ever think of you.

You try to act like it’s fine, and most days, it is. But there’s still that ache. That tug. That thought of what if, what could’ve been if something had gone differently.

So you sit with the ache. You wonder why they ever showed up if they were just going to leave. Why the universe would let you taste something so soft, so warm, so full of life—only to take it away. It feels cruel. Like someone dangled peace in front of you and then pulled it back without warning. And now you’re supposed to carry on like it was just a small thing. Like it didn’t crack something open in you.

You replay memories over and over like maybe if you study it hard enough, it’ll make sense. But it doesn’t.

And maybe it wasn’t meant to last. Maybe it was only meant to show you how much you’ve grown, how deeply you can feel, how willing you still are to open your heart.

Still, it mattered. Even if it ended because of something small. Even if it ended because of something big. It mattered.

You carry it quietly, with tenderness. Because it gave you something. Even if only for a moment, it showed you what connection can feel like. And that counts. That changes you.