A Sunset Without Tomorrow

This is the part
where we wake up.

Not abruptly—
but slowly,
like realizing the light in the room
was never the sun,
just a lamp left on all night.

What we grew into is still beautiful.
Maybe not romantic love,
but something quieter,
steadier—
a friendship that knows how to stay
even when the fantasy dissolves.

I’m not sorry for loving you.
I’m only sorry
for saying it out loud
when I already knew
you didn’t feel the same.
I should have held it gently,
kept it folded inside me,
because I never meant
to make you feel trapped
by something meant to be warm.

If I scared you,
if I overwhelmed you,
that is my fault—
and for that,
I am deeply sorry.
You are too dear to me
to ever be a burden.

I tried to be wiser.
I pushed my feelings aside,
gave you space,
time,
silence.
I treated you like any other friend
so you would never feel
the weight of my heart.
But somehow,
you still began to drift—
quietly,
like someone falling asleep mid-conversation.

I miss you.
The you who never stopped talking.
The you who told me about blades and hands and things you built.
The you who felt alive,
present.

Now your love feels different—
not cruel,
just cold.
Like a sunset
that promises morning
but never delivers it.

My love for you
was never hunger.
It was devotion—
like the sun loving the moon
without ever touching it,
content just to let it glow.

Please understand:
I don’t need romance from you.
I don’t need desire.
I only need you.
Your friendship.
Your presence.
The unapologetic version of you
who used to sit beside me
without distance.

Z.X., I miss you.

Even when we’re standing so close,
it feels like oceans between us.
If this is goodbye,
let me rest my head on your shoulder
one last time—
not to hold you,
not to keep you,
but to remember
what it felt like
to be home.

by Onnaya