But You've Never Felt Love Like This (A Love Letter to Me... But Let's Be Honest, Still to You)
Don't tell me to move on.
Don't tell me he didn't like me that much.
Don't look at me with your pity eyes
and your half-hearted "you'll be okay."
Because you've never felt this.
Not like this.
You've never sat in a dark movie theater
with Lilo & Stitch on screen -
a kids' movie, for God's sake -
and felt like your whole chest
was breaking open.
Because a cartoon alien says "ohana,"
and suddenly you remember
how he smiled at you in the hallway
like maybe. . . just maybe. . .
you were worth coming back for.
But he didn't come back.
And now I'm here,
shoving popcorn in my mouth
like it could soak up the ache.
Like butter and salt could patch a heart.
Like if I eat fast enough,
the thoughts will shut up -
the what-ifs,
the why-didn't-I's,
the maybe-he-still-thinks-about-me-sometimes.
But you've never felt that.
You've never felt the kind of pain
that doesn't even hurt in your chest -
no, it's lower.
It's in your stomach.
Deep.
Dull.
Heavy.
Like shame.
Not hunger.
Not nausea.
Just that weird, haunted
can't-eat-can't-sleep-can't-breathe
kind of feeling
where you're not sure if you're sad
or if your body is just done
carrying all this regret.
You've never paused a bite
mid-chew
because you remembered the way
he looked at you
when he thought you weren't looking.
You've never written love letters
you'll never send.
Poems no one will read.
Prayers whispered into pillowcases.
You've never begged the universe
to give you one more chance
just to get it right this time.
And no -
don't tell me I'm too young to feel this deeply.
Because I do.
Because I did.
Because I still feel it.
You say,
"He wasn't your soulmate."
"He didn't like you enough."
"He moved on."
And maybe that's all true.
But that doesn't erase the way I felt.
That doesn't rewrite the look in his eyes,
the way he made me laugh,
the way I wanted to be better -
just by standing next to him.
You don't get to tell me
how to heal
when you've never walked around
with a storm inside you
and a smile on your face
just to keep people from asking
if you're okay.
You've never tried to dissolve your feelings
like cotton candy in water -
sweet and sticky and gone.
But mine don't dissolve.
Mine linger.
Mine stay.
And yeah -
this is supposed to be a love letter to me.
To remind myself that I'm enough.
To remind myself that I'm worthy.
That I'll find love that stays.
Love that chooses me.
Love that's not complicated
or halfway or almost.
But let's be real -
it's still about you.
It's always about you.
And maybe one day,
it won't be.
But today,
I'm sitting here
in a theater seat too big for me,
heart too full of things I never said,
mouth full of popcorn,
eyes full of tears I blink away
so no one sees.
And I'm writing this
for me.
And for you.
And for the girl who still believes
that maybe - just maybe -
somehow,
you felt it too.
Gloria Timpau '28 is a passionate sophomore who dreams of acting, spreading love, and making others feel less alone. She enjoys writing, drinking coffee, watching TV shows, and spending time with her friends and family. Speaking of shows, her favorites are Gilmore Girls and Boy Meets World. She hopes to make people feel seen.