Dear Clark

Dear Clark,

Today is August 25. It has been exactly one month since you blocked me on Messenger, since you disconnected from Between and Love8, and since our little Arlo, our virtual baby, died with those apps. One whole month without you, without our private world, without the everyday rituals that once felt so permanent.

I'm writing this not to guilt you, not to force my way back into your life, but simply because my heart still carries you, and words are the only way I know to breathe through this weight.

I just came home from the hospital after being confined for four nights. You weren't there this time, Clark. And that absence hit me harder than the IV needles or the long hours of waiting. You used to be the person I leaned on most when my body was weak or my spirit was low. But this time, all I had was silence. And it wasn't just the silence of the hospital room, it was the silence of you no longer being in my life.

Strangely, I dreamt of you during those nights. The dream felt so real when I was in it, but when I woke, the details were gone. I couldn't remember what we said or did. I just knew you were there. And for a moment, that was enough. My heart recognized your presence, even if my memory couldn't hold on to the picture. I wonder if maybe that's what love becomes after separation: a presence without form, a feeling without details. Something that lingers even when the story is gone.

Clark, it's the one-month mark. One month since everything fell silent between us. One month since you closed the door. And I can't help but think about how heavy that day was. When you blocked me, it wasn't just about Messenger. It was about losing the tiny connection, the comfort of knowing you were just one message away. When you disconnected from Between, it felt like you erased the place where our memories lived: the notes, the stickers, the countdowns, the photos. And when you left Love8, when Arlo "died," it was like watching a small piece of our love vanish, too.

I know he wasn't real, Clark. I know Arlo was just a virtual baby, an app on a phone. But to me, he represented something important: the way we dreamed together, the way we nurtured something side by side, the way we allowed our love to grow beyond just us. Losing him wasn't about the app: it was about losing the hope and tenderness he stood for. It broke me in a way I can't explain to anyone else, because only you and I know what Arlo meant.

One month has passed, and I wish I could say I've moved forward, that I no longer think of you. But I can't. I still love you. I still miss you. I still feel the weight of your absence in every small corner of my life. People say healing takes time. But one month in, I don't feel healed, I just feel different.

Clark, I want you to know that I cherish everything we had. I know it's over, and maybe you don't want me in your life anymore. But I can't erase the fact that for a time, we were real. We mattered. We laughed, we dreamed, we created a world together. Between, Love8, Arlo, they were just symbols. What they really meant was us. And I will always be thankful for us.

If you ever think of me, Clark, I hope you remember me not for the mistakes I made, but for the love I gave. I hope you remember the laughter, the way I cared, the dreams we whispered together late at night. And I hope, wherever you are, you're okay. Truly okay.

I don't know where life will take us. For now, I carry you in my dreams, in my heart, and in these words. And even if the world says it's time to let go, I want you to know that I will always be grateful for having loved you.

It's been one month, Clark. One month of silence, of dreams, of learning how to breathe again. I still miss you. I still love you. And maybe that will never change.

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

Last updated on:2025-08-25T13:11:03+05:30