To You, Whom I Can Never Hold...

Dear Voice I Shouldn’t Miss,

There you were again—unexpected, yet unmistakable. 

After days of silence, after I told myself I was fine without you… you returned. 

Not with a greeting, not with words meant for me—but just your voice, slipping into the space around me like it never left.

And oh, how it hurt to realize I missed it more than I thought I would.

You probably didn’t notice me. 

Why would you? 

I was just another passerby, while your voice—soft, deep, calm—carried on with purpose. And yet, mine paused. My heart paused. Because for just a moment, it remembered what it shouldn’t.

Your voice was never mine to hold on to.
But it stayed.
It lingered in my memories, in quiet corners of my day, in the way I sometimes dreamed of hearing it again—even when I told myself I had moved on.

I know better now. 

I know I shouldn’t cling to the echo of something that was never meant to stay.
I know your voice can’t promise me warmth or truth or a future.
But still… It was beautiful.

So let this letter be my goodbye.
Not to you—but to the hold your voice had over me.

Thank you for speaking the way you do.
Thank you for reminding me that I still have the capacity to feel, even when it aches.
And thank you—because even as I let go, I will carry the quiet lesson your voice left behind.

I’ll be okay.
And one day, I’ll hear a new voice—maybe my own—stronger than ever, finally free

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I Am Just Trying To Move On

 Dear Your Voice,

I didn’t expect to miss you this much.

Two weeks passed like a quiet pause, and I thought maybe, I was getting better. I thought your absence would dull the feeling, that the silence would help me move on. But then you returned, and just one moment of hearing you again unraveled everything I had carefully tried to pack away.

There’s something about you that feels like a familiar song — soft, warm, and so achingly beautiful that it hurts to listen, and yet I never want to turn it off. I don’t know what it is. Maybe it’s the calm in your tone, the quiet strength that hides beneath it, or the way it gently cuts through the noise of my day. Whatever it is, I find myself clinging to echoes.

But here’s the truth I must face:
I can’t keep loving the sound of something that will never speak to me the way I hope it would.

So, I write this letter not to you — the person — but to your voice. The part of you that lingers when you are long gone. The part of you that didn’t do anything wrong but still holds me hostage in memories.

I will miss you.
I will still turn my head when I hear you.
But little by little, I will teach my heart that loving your voice doesn't mean holding onto you.

Someday, I hope your voice becomes just another sound in the world — a beautiful one, yes, but not the one that breaks me anymore.

With gentleness and goodbye,
Me

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