There are nights when he doesnโt go looking for youโฆ but his mind does.
In the dark, when the noise fades and the world stops asking him to be strong or distracted, thatโs when you show up. Not because he wants you to โ but because his heart still remembers the version of him that loved you without hesitation.
He dreams of your voice first.
Not the words โ just the warmth.
The way it softened the edges of a long day.
The way it made him feel understood without explaining anything.
Then he dreams of your laugh.
Not loud, not dramatic.
The quiet version โ the one you only gave to him when you were safe.
And in that dream he reaches for you... instinctively.
Like a habit.
Like a muscle memory.
Like something the world didnโt manage to break out of him.
But the worst part is always the same:
he wakes up.
He opens his eyes to a room where youโre not there.
He reaches for his phone without thinking โ and stops himself the moment his thumb hovers over your name.
Because dreaming of you is easy.
Wanting you is easy.
Missing you is easy.
But choosing you?
Choosing you would require honesty, vulnerability, effort โ three things he still doesnโt know how to give without fear of losing control.
So he lies there in the dark, breathing heavy, regret quietly sitting on his chest like a weight he pretends he doesnโt feel.
And for a few seconds, he searches for you โ in the dark, in the silence, in the spaces where he once knew you existed.
He doesnโt tell anyone that part.
But every dream leaves a mark.
He wakes up thinking of you even on the mornings when he convinces himself he doesnโt.
โ kim ๐