by Chad Nathan
She’ll probably never read this.
She’s not following me anymore.
She’s not liking the posts, not sending the “this reminded me of you” texts.
She’s moved on, and that’s ok.
Because when someone changes your life, even just by walking through it for a little while, you don’t forget.
She wasn’t some perfect girl with all the right words and all the answers, of course not. She was hurting too.
Honestly, I think she was hurting more than me.
But something about the way she existed cracked the ice I had around myself.
She made me want to be better.
She reminded me what it felt like to care.
There were no titles. No promises. No clean beginnings or tidy ends.
Just moments.
Small ones.
Big ones.
Ones I still replay.
She’ll probably never know how much she helped me during one of the darkest chapters of my life.
And maybe she didn’t even mean to.
Maybe it was accidental.
Maybe I just happened to be standing close enough to catch the light coming through.
But I really saw her.
Not just the version she posted.
The way she always looked like she had something to say but didn’t know if it would be safe to speak it out loud.
I don’t know what I was to her.
I’ve driven myself crazy wondering.
Maybe I’ll never know.
Maybe I’m not supposed to.
She’ll probably never read this.
But I wrote it anyway.
Because some people teach you things you don’t unlearn.
And sometimes you don’t write something to get it to someone.
But to let it out of you.
The bravery it takes to put words to what you truly feel is no small thing. That kind of honesty—naming the ache, the questions, the “maybes”—has a way of carving space for healing you may not even see yet. Writing it out, even when you’re not sure anyone will read it, is already shaping you. That courage to speak honestly will carry you further than you realize, and I believe it will become a gift to you in the end.
I don’t know the story, but it’s a beautiful thing you’ve written.