For as long as I can remember, I’ve been chasing her.
Not a woman, really. But something like her.
A silhouette in the distance—sharp, confident, impossible to forget.
She walks like she knows the answers. Talks in riddles. Smiles rarely but meaningfully.
And every time I get close, she slips away.That’s life, isn’t it?
A smart, mysterious woman who knows you better than you know yourself.
She flirts with you in your dreams and disappears in the morning.
You follow her across timelines, cities, and versions of yourself—never fully arriving, always almost.I’ve met many along the way.
Some who mirrored her eyes.
Some who echoed her laughter.
But none who were her.
Because she isn’t someone you meet—she’s someone you become worthy of.Sometimes, I blamed myself for not reaching her.
Too slow. Too distracted. Too imperfect.
Other times, I blamed her.
Too fast. Too cruel. Too out-of-reach.
But the truth is—we both played the game.
She ran. I followed. She waited. I hesitated.Still, I keep chasing.
Because in those fleeting seconds when our paths brush—when I feel the wind she leaves behind—I remember who I’m supposed to be.
Not someone who waits for life to pick him, but someone who meets life on equal terms.
Who rises, dresses up in purpose, and says,
“I’m not just chasing you anymore—I’m here to walk beside you.”This isn’t a story of loss. It’s a story of pursuit.
Of growth, grit, and grace.
And whether she stays or leaves again, I know I’m getting closer.
Not to her approval.
But to my arrival.
