Dear Clark

Dear Clark,

I didn't cry today. I think that's worth saying first, because you know me, I've been crying for days, for weeks, for what feels like forever. The tears would come in waves, sometimes catching me off guard, sometimes pouring out of me like they'd never end. But today was different. My eyes stayed dry. My heart didn't. It still aches in the same familiar way, but the pain felt quieter, less violent, almost like grief was learning a new language inside me.

I'm writing to you now from the hospital. My vitals aren't stable yet, so I'll need to stay here longer than I expected. It feels strange, Clark, being here, surrounded by white walls, the constant hum of machines, nurses walking in and out. My body is trying to heal, but my heart, it still aches for you.

If things were different, I know you'd be here with me. I can picture it so clearly that sometimes I almost believe it's true. You'd sit beside me, maybe telling me it's okay if I don't finish my food even when you told me I should eat more. You'd hold my hand, rub your thumb gently against my skin like you always did when you wanted me to feel safe. You'd look at me with that steady gaze, the one that always told me, "I'm here."

But you're not here, Clark. And that's the hardest part. I'm in this hospital bed without you, missing you in a way that feels like it's woven into every breath I take.

You're back in the Philippines now. I don't know what you're doing at this very moment, but knowing you're here in the same country makes my heart ache even more. Because you feel so close, yet so impossibly far. I wonder if you're okay. I wonder if you've eaten, if you've slept well, if you've smiled today. And then I wonder if I should even still be wondering these things, because technically, you're not mine to worry about anymore. But how do I stop caring about someone who was once my everything? How do I unlove the person who still feels like home to me?

Today, the longing didn't bring me to tears, but it stayed with me in quieter ways. It was in the way I woke up restless, in the way I looked at my phone out of habit, in the way I remembered the sound of your laughter without even trying. It was in the way I thought about how, if you were here, maybe my chest wouldn't feel this heavy, maybe I'd breathe a little easier.

Clark, I don't know if I still cross your mind the way you cross mine a thousand times a day. Maybe you've already begun to move on, to live in a world where I'm not a part of your every moment. And if that's the case, I hope you're doing well. Truly, I hope you're okay. Because even if we're no longer "us," even if the story we had has already reached its ending, the love I carry for you doesn't just vanish. It's still here, steady, unwavering, even in the silence you've left behind.

I know I've made mistakes. I know I hurt you in ways I can never take back. Sometimes, the regret is so heavy I feel like it's crushing me. If I could go back in time, I'd do everything differently. I'd choose honesty over fear, truth over hiding. I'd trust you with every part of me, even the parts I wanted to bury. Because you deserved that. You deserved all of me, not just the version I thought was safe to show.

I carry that regret with me every day. But alongside it, I also carry gratitude. Gratitude for the way you loved me, for the way you made me feel seen and cherished. Gratitude for the nights we spent on sleep calls, for the mornings we greeted together, for the little rituals that made our love feel so uniquely ours. Gratitude for the laughter, the warmth, the way you could make even the simplest moments feel magical.

Even now, when everything hurts, I wouldn't trade what we had for anything. Loving you has been the most beautiful part of my life, even if it also became the most painful.

I think about the scrapbook I'm making, the one filled with our memories, our moments, our pieces. It feels like my last act of love, the final chapter I can give you before I let go. I don't know if you'll ever hold it in your hands, if you'll ever flip through its pages and remember what we once were. But I hope, if you do, you'll feel even just a fraction of the love I poured into every piece of it. Because Clark, that love is real.

Sometimes, I tell myself I need to stop. That I need to finally let go, to give my heart a chance to heal. My mind knows it's the logical thing to do. But my heart, my heart is stubborn. It still chooses you, over and over, even in your absence. It still whispers your name in the quiet.

And yet, even as I write this, I know I have to learn how to live with the ache of missing you. Maybe that's what love is, too. Not just the joy of having someone, but the courage to keep loving them quietly when they're gone. To honor what was and to carry someone in your heart even when what is feels empty.

Clark, if you ever read this, I hope you know that no matter where life takes you, you'll always carry a piece of me with you. You'll always be the guy I loved so deeply it reshaped me. You'll always be the one I dreamed of a future with, the one who showed me what it means to be truly known. You'll always be my first home.

I don't know what tomorrow will bring. Maybe my body will be stronger, maybe I'll finally be discharged from this hospital, maybe I'll take one more small step toward healing. Or maybe tomorrow I'll miss you just as much, maybe the ache will stay the same. But either way, I'll carry on. Because I have to. Because you once taught me how to fight, how to hope, how to love fully. And even if I can't love you beside me anymore, I can still love the world the way you once taught me to: with gentleness, with patience, with everything I have.

So tonight, Clark, I'll fall asleep with you in my heart. Not with tears this time, but with a quiet longing that has learned to live without breaking me open. And if love lingers, then maybe that's okay. Maybe it's just proof that what we had was real.

Always,
Alyssa (Phineas, Arlo, Fifi, and Mang)

Last updated on:2025-08-22T17:39:03+05:30