I Still Draw Us
I Still Draw Us
There’s a small café by the sea, tucked away where the waves don’t crash so much as whisper. It’s quiet there.. the kind of quiet that feels like someone waiting. I still go there sometimes. Not every day, not even every week. Just when the air feels a certain way. When it smells like rain but the sky hasn’t cried yet. That’s when I miss you the most.
You used to sit by the window, always in the same spot. I remember how the sunlight used to catch in your hair, how you’d stare out at the sea like it was telling you a story only you could understand. You never said much neither did I. We didn’t need to, our silences were never empty.
You’d draw on napkins. Little sketches of seagulls, the barista, the way I’d hold my cup too tightly when I was nervous. I kept every single one. I don’t think I realized we were making memories back then. I thought we were just passing time. But now, every second feels like it mattered more than I knew. The way your fingers brushed mine when you reached for the sugar. The way you’d smile into your coffee before you took a sip, like it held a secret.
You left gently. No fight, no storm. Just a slow fading like the way autumn steals the green from the trees. One day you were just… quieter. A little less “here” and then you were gone.
I told myself that I understand. Love, sometimes is about letting go. But the truth is, I still look for you in the corner of cafés, in strangers who wear your scent, in the way the sea reflects the sky.
I still draw us.
Not with pencils or paint, but in thoughts. I sketch the way you looked at me when you thought I wasn’t watching. The sound of your laugh tucked inside the waves. The warmth of your hand in mine is not fireworks, but steady & safe.
We didn’t say goodbye. Maybe that’s why I can’t stop writing our story together. Because some part of me believes it’s not over. So I sit here, by the sea, sketching the air where you used to be. Even if you never come back, even if time takes everything else… I’ll keep drawing our moments.
Because they were real.
Because you were real.
And because love, when it’s true, never really leaves.
