Written Through These Amber Eyes

I fear writing this story incorrectly because every letter and every syllable is deeply intertwined with the way my heart and soul once were. The past tense matters here; it carries the weight of what was and what can never be again. If I had written this sooner and hadn’t waited, the story would still have been whole and happy. But I didn’t. I waited. I hesitated. Now, the words are harder to find, and the rhythm is off. It’s as if waiting for the perfect moment has somehow made everything else feel less tangible. I fear that it will slip away entirely if I don’t write it now, like something that should have been beautiful but was lost in the waiting. I need to write it because, in a single moment, sunshine can turn to darkness. In the blink of an eye, letters can stray like my heart once pulled away from my soul. I need to write it because the person I loved might have become a façade, fading somewhere on the shore while I was collecting unbroken seashells. I didn’t see the cracks appearing in my heart. Now, I know it might have been different if I had finished writing this sooner. It might have been enough.