The Ruin Script

sometimes, i think of how unexpected you were. i met you in a season where i was trying to find a connection. and there you were, our conversations unfolding with a depth. i fell into your perspectives: visions, ideals, the way your mind opened itself in discussion. it was unfamiliar to feel that kind of intellectual and emotional depth so quickly, and i would be lying if i said it did not linger. maybe what made it linger more was the awareness that you felt slightly out of reach. just distant in ways i could not name. there were quiet moments when i weighed the space between us: timing, readiness, where we stood in our own lives. it felt wider than what conversation alone could bridge.

every exchange we had carried weight. not heavy, but meaningful. there was substance in the way you spoke, in the way you understood nuance. you were willing to explore ideas instead of dismissing them. but somewhere between the conversations, we drifted. it did not turn bitter; it simply became something i had to release with grace. perhaps we both felt the shift. perhaps the gap—whatever it was—quietly did what it was always going to do.

although you are no longer here, i would be dishonest if i said there is no ache. there is, but it is gentle. i liked you as a person. not in a way that would make me trade my peace or abandon my priorities, but in a way that made me witness depth is still present. what i offered you was real. i almost bent. not to lose myself, but to meet you halfway. and that alone means something. i hope what we shared carried the truth on your end as it did on mine.

now, i hold you with gratitude instead of longing. the yearning softened when acceptance settled in. i pray you find the kind of love you were searching for, a safe place you can run to, a presence that understands you deeply. may the visions you shared with me be granted in your future.

this valentine’s day, i do not hold you with regret. i hold you with appreciation. thank you for the conversations that stirred something new in me, for reminding me that depth still exists in unexpected places. wherever you are, i hope you are safe. i hope you are growing. and i hope the love you find is steady, intentional, and worthy of the man you are becoming.

with hearts and gratitude,
aki

author’s note:
— bled by @achilleusdeirdre
— 14th of february, year 2026
— open to criticism; all echoes welcome.
— lowercase intended for signature writing.