Hi you,
It’s 8:24am on a Friday morning. The sky is pale, the sun is still shy, hiding its face and I’m sitting here thinking about you.
Before I begin, I should mention the kind security woman who offered me a seat while I waited for the posting bus (the one that takes me from my hostel to the hospital) I pray God meets her at the point of her needs.
Today, I wore the bracelet. Our bracelet. The one you gave me when the world still felt simple, when promises felt light enough to keep. A reminder that we’d always be just a call away.
It was a yin and yang, two halves that were meant to fit. I didn’t tell you then, but I believed you with my whole heart.
I fell in love with a girl once—you. And I loved you in ways I didn’t know I was capable of. You had my heart in more ways than one.
You saw me in every season, every version of me, and somehow you still stayed. At least for a while.
But then life happened. Complications. Distance. Silence. And suddenly, the girl who once felt like home became just another stranger with memories attached.
You made me believe in best friends, even though I never trusted that concept before. I gave it a shot, and for a while, it worked. But now I’m back where I started—best friend-less.
Some days I wonder if I’ll ever have one again, someone who fits. Maybe it’ll be my husband. Maybe my daughter. Or maybe just the small dog I dream of buying someday.
When we stopped talking, I couldn’t throw it away, but I couldn’t bear to see it either. I hid it instead. It’s been buried in my jewelry stash for almost a year, hidden like a wound I never let heal, partly because I didn’t know what to say whenever someone asked about the other half, about you.
Today, I wore it again. And it hurt.
It hurt because it reminded me of you. Of us. Of all the little promises that didn’t last. Of laughter on days that felt endless. Of hugs that felt safe. Of promises we whispered and never kept.
It’s 3:30pm now. I’m in another bus, my grey scrubs wrinkled from the day, heading back to my hostel. My eyes feel heavy, like they’re holding the words I’m writing.
I still pray for you sometimes. I hope the world is kind to you, softer than the distance we couldn’t survive. I wish I could tell you how safe it felt in your arms, how steady your voice made me, how I still dream of the girl who made me believe in best friends.
But maybe some things are better left unsaid. Maybe some stones are better left unturned.
And I hope, somewhere deep down, you still remember me the way I remember you.
Still, I wonder—what do we do with the pieces of people who are no longer in our lives?
Listen to our podcast: Adaeze’s Tales the Podcast
Find me on Instagram: @anitaaadaeze
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