The Slow Death of Us

We did not end

with shouting.

No doors slammed.

No cruel final words

sharp enough to remember forever.

Instead,

we disappeared from each other

the way daylight leaves a room

gradually,

without anyone noticing

the exact moment it became dark.

Once,

you knew everything about me.

Which songs could ruin my mood.

Which silence meant I was hurting.

How I always laughed too hard

when trying not to cry.

Your name lived inside my phone

like something permanent.

Now it sits there quietly,

buried beneath delivery notifications,

missed calls,

and people I barely know.

Sometimes I scroll upward

through old messages.

The proof feels unreal.

Entire years

of jokes, confessions, voice notes,

late-night panic,

shared dreams too fragile

to tell anyone else.

We promised impossible things back then.

Matching apartments in some future city.

Godparents to each other’s children.

Growing old loudly together.

It embarrasses me now,

how certain we were.

But maybe that is what youth does.

It mistakes closeness

for permanence.

At first,

the distance seemed harmless.

A delayed reply.

A canceled plan.

Conversations shortened by exhaustion.

Life entered quietly between us—

work, heartbreak, survival,

the slow machinery of adulthood.

And somehow

the friendship began dying

without either of us saying goodbye.

I wonder if you noticed it too.

The last real conversation.

The final time we spoke

without politeness replacing intimacy.

There should have been music playing

or rain against windows,

some dramatic sign

to honor the ending.

Instead,

there was probably laundry waiting,

emails unanswered,

a tired evening like any other.

That’s what hurts most.

Not that I lost you,

but that ordinary life

was enough to do it.

Now we watch each other from afar

through birthdays, promotions,

carefully filtered photographs.

Strangers

with shared history.

Still, every now and then,

something reminds me of you.

A joke you would have understood instantly.

A song from years ago.

The urge to send a message

before remembering

how much time has passed.

And for one impossible second,

I miss you

as naturally

as breathing.