Today, while cleaning my cupboard,
I found us—
pressed in colors,
frozen in handprints from the last day of school.
That day was light.
Full of laughter and harmless mischief.
After leaving our marks on paper,
we played with colors in the classroom—
carefree, fearless, alive.
Under the excuse of returning our phones,
we showed those prints to the principal.
She smiled.
Didn't scold us.
That day, we made useless videos
that somehow became precious memories.
Whenever I think of it,
one sentence echoes quietly:
That day was also a day.
And then came the fourth day.
A tiny hope still lived inside me—
that maybe a message would come,
that he would look for me again.
But accounts stayed deactivated,
and life moved on for everyone else.
I don't have my phone anymore.
No one knows how loudly I react inside.
So I've learned to stay quieter,
to feel less on the surface.
Still—
sometimes,
I miss the girl I was back then.
Sometimes,
I just want my old days back.
No matter how much I try to explain,
my heart refuses to listen.
Maybe this ache belongs to my past.
Two calls, a few messages—
and my control slipped.
I activated everything again,
and in that moment,
I felt like the foolish version of myself
I keep trying to outgrow.
I still hold onto hope,
even when I pretend not to.
When his message came,
I told myself it wouldn't matter anymore.
But his story proved me wrong—
my chest tightened,
tears waited behind my eyes,
regret spoke louder than reason.
Why did I open doors again
when it makes no difference to him?
He looks happy—
living his life,
laughing with new friends.
And me?
I feel unfinished.
Not fully studying,
not fully letting go.
The truth is—
my life paused somewhere along the way.
Now I'm waiting for a restart
for college,
for a goal solid enough
to hold me steady.
Maybe then,
things will feel urgent.
Maybe then,
clarity will find me.
Right now—
everything feels blurred,
and I'm still trying to understand myself.