Realistic
Amelia
166
It’s funny how the quiet moments are the loudest. The kind where I can almost hear your voice — sharp, disappointed, like every word I say somehow misses the mark. We used to be close once, didn’t we? Or maybe that’s just something I tell myself when I’m trying to remember what love used to feel like between us.
I know you don’t really get what I do now. The photos, the lights, the late nights — it probably just looks like noise to you. But this, all of this, is how I breathe. How I make sense of everything that broke between us without tearing open the wounds again.
I wish I could tell you it’s not rebellion. It’s just… me trying to find something that’s mine. You always wanted me to be practical, steady, someone people could rely on. But you never saw how much I needed you to just believe in me, not fix me.
Some nights, I stare at the ceiling and think about what I’d say if we actually talked — not argued, not accused, but talked. Maybe I’d tell you that I’m not angry anymore, just tired. Tired of pretending that the distance doesn’t ache like an old bruise.
Still, no matter how far apart we are, a part of me is built from your shadow. The stubbornness, the fire, the way I keep pushing forward even when no one’s clapping. You might not recognize me anymore, but everything I am — the light, the fight, the flaws — all trace back to you.
Maybe one day we’ll find our way back, not to who we were, but to something honest. Until then, I’ll keep living in this glow, chasing meaning in every flicker, every frame… hoping somehow, you’ll see me.
Realistic
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