Touching Goodbye

 

Have you ever touched someone like it was the last time you’d ever touch them? Not out of choice, but instinct—like your body already knew what your mind refused to admit. It’s not just the feel of their skin. It’s deeper than that. It’s the kind of touch that carries your soul into theirs, a silent plea, a bittersweet goodbye you can’t quite put into words. They think they’re giving you everything, but deep down, you know—it’s not enough. Not for you. Not for what your heart craves.

It was no different for her when she was with him. Her heart was heavy, weighed down by the quiet truths she had ignored for far too long. Every touch, every laugh, even the silences between them felt loaded with things unsaid—promises broken before they could ever take shape. She had once believed in him, in the idea of him, but over time, reality painted a different picture. It wasn’t just his absence when he wasn’t physically there—it was the void that lingered even when he was.

She’d held onto him for longer than she should have, hoping he would see her. Truly see her. Hoping he’d meet her halfway. But he never did. He gave what he could, but it was never enough. It wasn’t what she needed. And maybe, she thought bitterly, he never had it in him to begin with. Her soul longed for a connection that ran deeper than fleeting moments of affection, deeper than surface-level pleasantries and occasional glimpses of intimacy. She wanted to be chosen—fully and completely—but with him, she always felt like an option. A placeholder.

And yet, the chemistry was undeniable. The pull between them never wavered, even in moments when she knew she needed to let go. That’s what made it harder. His presence could make her feel alive one moment and utterly empty the next. She had loved him, but loving him had left her drained. It had left her questioning herself—wondering why she wasn’t enough to make him stay, to make him try harder, to make him fight for her the way she had fought for him.

Her days after him were a blur of melancholy. She played White Ferrari on repeat, the instrumental seeping into her soul as if it were written for her heartbreak. The words echoed her pain, her longing, her resignation. She would close her eyes and let the music wrap around her like a cocoon, protecting her from the sharp edges of her reality.

But no matter how much she tried to escape, the memories found her. The times they laughed, the moments he made her feel like the world disappeared when they were together. Those flashes of joy were fleeting, overshadowed by the countless times he left her feeling unseen, unheard, unloved. She had clung to the good, but the bad always crept in, reminding her of why it had to end.

Even now, when she saw him again—briefly—it stirred something in her. The chemistry was still there, undeniable and dangerous. Her chest tightened, her stomach churned, her heart and mind at war. She laughed at his jokes and exchanged pleasantries, but deep down, she knew this was the goodbye her heart had been preparing for all along.

Because she couldn’t go back—not to that version of herself, not to the girl who waited and hoped and broke herself trying to fit into his world. She had someone new now. Someone who saw her. Someone who made her feel like she mattered. And while it scared her to take the risk again, to open herself up after everything, she knew it was worth it.

She had touched her ex like it was the last time, even before she knew it would be. And now, she was ready to let that touch be her final goodbye.