If we ever meet again —

I want you to know that I always felt something quietly meaningful in our connection.

Not loud. Not obvious. But steady, thoughtful, and unexpectedly familiar.

Like speaking a language I didn’t know I remembered.

It was never defined, never spoken aloud —

but the way it felt said enough.

It mattered.

To me.

And I think, quietly, to you too.

You were calm and curious, kind and quietly present —

the sort of presence that doesn’t fade with time or distance.

And though we never said everything,

I think we both knew we’d stumbled into something rare, folded softly inside routine conversations.

Maybe we were meant to meet, but not meant to become anything more.

Maybe life brought you to me for a season, not for a future.

But I do know this:

You reminded me how light and full it can feel to be known — without needing to explain.

Though life has moved on and it feels like a faded memory, but sometimes I still hope that our paths cross again —somewhere with stone cottages, windswept hills, and skies that never quite decide between sunlight and mist .

As if time had simply paused and waited for us to return.

And if the words don’t come, I hope you’ll remember what it felt like to sit across a moment from someone and feel quietly understood.

But…we met — and that, somehow, will always be enough.💕