Open Letter to the Universe

"For you, whom I once called my universe"

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To My Universe, Whom I Once Loved With All My Heart,

There are things in this life that cannot be explained by logic, and cannot be saved by love either. We were one of them. We, who chose each other without hesitation, but still had to let go without reluctance.

I don’t know where to start.

Because even after walking this far without you, I have never truly felt like I left you. I do my activities as usual, and my days pass emptily. My time is filled with things that have no meaning. But you remain there, like a small thing I deliberately keep deepest inside, so it won’t be touched by anyone—even by myself.

I write this not because I’m not done with you. But because I want to write everything consciously. I want to love you for the last time, with words that no longer try to hold you, but place you in a better place—a place where I don’t have to call you every day, but will remember you forever.

We never really parted in a fight. We didn’t end this because we ran out of love. Instead, because that love was too much, until we didn’t know where else to put it. We kept each other, accommodated each other, but in the end we drowned each other.

There are days after you left that feel like an emptiness that cannot be explained. Not an explosive sadness, not a raging longing, but a kind of gentle hollowness that stays in the chest. It feels like a house that wasn’t abandoned in panic, but slowly emptied one by one, consciously, until only empty walls remain.

That’s what you left behind.

And that’s what I live in.

My days keep going, and I keep living. I wake up every morning. I smile at people. I greet those who greet me. But there is one thing I keep to myself: I have never truly gone far from you. I only learned to live in a world that can no longer hold the two of us.

I don’t write this because I want you back. No. I don’t want you to read this and think I haven’t healed. Quite the opposite. I write this because I am healing. And I know that part of the healing process is acknowledging the wound that actually doesn’t want to be healed. A wound that we prefer to preserve slowly, so we don’t forget that we once became someone who loved so deeply, so honestly, and so fully.

I hope the person by your side now knows—you are not an ordinary woman.

You are a home not built from walls, but from sincerity. You are a peaceful place not made up. You don’t need to become anyone to make someone feel like they’ve come home. You just need to be you. And that, for me, was always more than enough. Always more than enough.

—END—