The radio chirps to life, the familiar melody of “What If I Love You” washing over me. A bittersweet ache settles in my chest as Gatlin’s voice floats through my room.
They say it’s a once-in-a-lifetime kind of love, and for a blissful moment, I truly believed you were it.
Everywhere I look, the city feels saturated with memories. Every street corner, every cafe, whispers of stolen glances and whispered promises. I see your car parked on a side street, a phantom image taunting me. The urge to call you, to chase that fleeting hope, is a constant battle. Logic screams at me. You’ve moved on, seemingly unfazed.
“By now I should be okay,”
You’d probably say it, oblivious to the storm raging within me. But what if, just what if, my affection for you surpasses that seeming simplicity? What if it’s a suffocating feeling, pulling me under despite my desperate attempts to stay afloat?
The song cuts to the chorus, Gatlin’s voice raw with a question that echoes in my soul: “What if I loved you way too much?” Did I smother you with affection? Did I misread the signals, clinging to a future that never existed? The weight of those unknowns is a constant burden.
Maybe it’s time to stop asking “what if” and start facing reality. Maybe loving you “way too much” means learning to let go, to prioritize my own healing. It doesn’t mean the love wasn’t real, just that it wasn’t destined to be the happily-ever-after I craved.
The city speeds by, a blur of concrete and gloomy room. With a shaky breath, I turn off the radio. The silence is deafening, but within it, a tiny spark of hope still within me. Maybe, just maybe, this love that felt all-consuming can transform. Maybe it can become the strength that carries me forward, a testament to the depth of my own capacity to love. The road ahead is uncertain, but for the first time, I’m ready to face it, “what if” and all.
