There are only two things that have managed to destroy me from the inside out — memories and habits. Not pain. Not heartbreak. Just those two. Quiet killers. Slow poison. And both somehow have the same face — hers.
It started casually — like all storms do.
A text here. A call there. Laughter over inside jokes. Long walks that felt short. The way her eyes lit up when she talked about things that made her happy. I didn’t realize when I began memorizing her patterns — the exact pause before she cracked a joke, the way she tied her hair when she was nervous, or how she said “hmm” when she was lost in thought. I didn’t know I was already falling into a pattern myself.
And that’s how she became a habit.
I don’t know what to call what we had. Was it friendship? Then why did it ache every time she talked about someone else with that same spark? Was it love? Then why couldn’t I ever tell her? Why did I hesitate to define it? Why was I scared it might break the comfort we shared?
We weren’t together, yet we were always there — present in each other’s every little moment. She became the first person I wanted to text when something good happened. Or bad. Or nothing. Especially nothing.
That’s when you realize it — when you miss someone even when nothing is going on. That’s when they’ve become a habit.
But time has a cruel way of showing you what you refused to see — that some habits aren’t mutual.
She didn’t exactly move on — at least, I can’t say that for sure. It wasn’t some dramatic exit or a final conversation. It was quieter than that. Slower. Like watching a light dim without noticing when it started to fade.
But somewhere in that quiet shift, I found myself in the background of a story I wasn’t sure I was still part of.
But I wasn’t ready to let go — not because I wanted her back, but because I didn’t know how to un-habit her.
My mornings still began with thoughts of her. I’d scroll up to reread our old chats just to feel something. I’d walk past that café we used to visit and still glance inside, as if hoping to catch a shadow of us.
That’s the thing about memories. They don’t knock before coming in. They flood you when you’re least prepared — when you hear her favorite song, smell a perfume similar to hers in a crowd, or see a dress that she would’ve loved.
You begin to realize you’re not haunted by her — you’re haunted by who you were with her.
There came a moment — the turning point — when I was sitting in a room full of people, but feeling empty. Someone asked me, “Are you okay?” And I smiled. The practiced smile. The lie wrapped in casual words: “Yeah, just tired.”
But I wasn’t tired. I was saturated. Full of unspoken things. Of memories that had nowhere to go. Of questions that had no answers. Of feelings that weren’t allowed names.
That’s when I understood — the worst part wasn’t that she was gone.
The worst part was she never really left.
She stayed — in my playlists, in my favorite hoodie, in my late-night thoughts, in my habits.
And I didn’t know what to call it.
I didn’t want friendship anymore — not the kind that makes you feel less every time she treats you like just another person.
I wasn’t sure if it was love, because love is supposed to be returned, right?
And yet, I couldn’t deny — there was comfort, there was closeness, there was something soft and unexplainable between us.
But “something” isn’t a label you can grieve.
And you can’t move on from a story that never officially began.
So here I am — sitting with the two worst things in my life: memories and habits.
One reminds me of how beautiful things were.
The other refuses to let me forget.
And her?
She’s probably out there — smiling, unaware of the storm she left behind.
Maybe one day, I’ll stop flinching at her name.
Maybe I’ll form new habits, create new memories, give my heart a new direction.
But until then, I live in the in-between.
Of things that almost were.
Of bonds that had no name.
Of a girl who was never mine…
…but felt like home.
And that’s the problem with memories and habits — they make you miss things that never really existed the way you imagined them.
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