I wish I could tell you that I do not hate you, that I miss your smile— a light too beautiful to name, a presence that felt like breathing in eternity. I wish I could tell you that every cruel word was only a disguise, a lie I built to push you away. I called it protection, but was it for you, or was it only for me? Still, the truth is this: it cut you then, and it still cuts me now. From afar, I watch you— your laughter louder, your smile brighter. And I wonder, is it painted on for the world to see? for me to believe you’re fine? Or am I the only one still clinging to questions, to shadows of what was? I wish I could tell you that you were the most enchanting thing that ever touched my life. Perhaps I pushed you away because you were too perfect, too luminous to hold— and I was too foolish, too small to believe in joy. Now the past bleeds into my mind, blurred and trembling— I cannot tell what was real, what was only my desperate invention. Am I a fool? Perhaps I always will be. I wish I could tell you to return, that the past is not gone— it lives inside me, a presence that does not fade. I wish I could tell you that I am still a liar, still unable to end the beautiful ache of terrible, unforgettable memories.