I don’t know if the universe wants me to forget you. I don’t think it does.

I’ve tried everything.

I have avoided you or any information about you at any cost, restrained myself from stalking you for months, and filled the void of your emptiness with new things. And it’s not like I haven’t put effort in replacing you with someone new—because I have, yet I always failed miserably. At the end of the day, I always come running back to the thoughts of you.

No matter where I go, no matter which lane I take—left or right, no matter with who I am, no matter what I’m doing, there are always pieces of you left in traces. Sometimes it’s subtler; the things I remember you would do and say, the memes I want to tag you in on Instagram, the funny stories I’d like to tell you, or the warmth of your hug whenever I cry, the blurry memories. But sometimes it’s more suicidal; your name is all of a sudden magically everywhere, your face which happens to be in pictures of my friends, your little sister whom I meet in the middle of the mall, or just the regrettable mention of anything that connects with you. Or sometimes even a little bit weird, such as my dreams and the familiarity of your smile in mine.

I think we were meant for each other. I just found out sooner, while you’re still figuring things out.

I don’t believe in coincidences. All of my attempts to forget you have flunked.

I d