Dear Elayne

Dear Elayne,

I don't know if this letter

will ever find you.

Maybe it isn't meant to.

Maybe some words

are only meant to be written,

not delivered.

Still, tonight,

I found myself thinking of you again.

Not in the painful way

I used to.

Just quietly.

The way an old song

can bring back a face

you haven't seen in years.

I remembered your smile.

Not the perfect kind

people put in photographs,

but the real one—

the one that appeared

when you forgot anyone was watching.

I remember the little things, too.

The way you used to pause

before answering a difficult question.

The way you looked out the window

when your thoughts became too loud.

The way you could make

an ordinary afternoon

feel like something worth remembering.

Funny, isn't it?

We never know which moments

will become precious later.

At the time,

they were just moments.

A conversation.

A walk.

A goodbye at the door.

A laugh that lasted too long.

A silence that somehow

didn't feel uncomfortable.

We never stopped to say,

“Remember this.”

We simply lived.

And now I would give almost anything

to have one ordinary day back.

Just one.

I wouldn't ask for the grand moments.

I wouldn't need promises

or beautiful speeches.

I'd sit across from you

at some little café

with old wooden tables

and rain against the windows.

I'd listen to you talk.

I'd probably interrupt you

with something silly.

You'd roll your eyes.

I'd laugh.

And for a few hours,

we wouldn't know

that someday we would become

memories to each other.

Maybe that's what I miss most, Elayne.

Not you exactly.

But who we were

when we were together.

You before life became complicated.

Me before I learned

how quickly people can change.

Us before we understood

that some doors close

without making a sound.

I sometimes wonder

if you remember me.

Maybe you do.

Maybe you don't.

Maybe somewhere in your life

there is an old photograph

with my face in it,

tucked inside a drawer

you rarely open.

Maybe you see it sometimes

and wonder what happened

to the person you once knew.

If you ever do,

I hope you remember me kindly.

Not as the person

who got everything right.

I didn't.

I had my fears.

I said things I shouldn't have.

I stayed quiet

when I should have spoken.

I spoke

when silence would have been kinder.

I was young.

You were young.

Perhaps we were both

still learning how to love

without hurting each other.

And perhaps that is why

I don't blame the past anymore.

Some things simply happen.

Some people stay.

Some people leave.

Some stories reach their ending

even when the characters

aren't ready to close the book.

Ours became one of those stories.

But Elayne,

if life ever brings you

back to the places we once knew,

I hope the memories are gentle.

I hope the streets

don't feel empty.

I hope the old songs

make you smile instead of ache.

And if you ever think of me,

don't remember the goodbye.

Remember the laughter.

Remember the evenings

when the world felt small

and we had nowhere else to be.

Remember how young we were.

How hopeful.

How beautifully unaware

we were of how quickly time moves.

As for me,

I'll keep you somewhere quiet.

Not in the place where sadness lives,

but somewhere softer—

between old photographs,

half-finished letters,

rainy evenings,

and songs I still can't listen to

without thinking of yesterday.

I don't know where life took you, Elayne.

I don't know who you became.

But I hope she is happy.

I hope she is loved.

I hope she looks at herself

with the same kindness

I once wished she could see.

And if this letter

never reaches your hands,

perhaps that's alright.

Some letters aren't written

for the person they're addressed to.

Some are written

so the heart can finally say

what it carried for too long.

So, dear Elayne,

wherever you are,

I hope life has been gentle with you.

And if, someday,

you remember me—

I hope you smile.

Because I will.

I always will.