The Apartment We Won’t Share is written for the one who once had dream together only to lost their hopes in the end, for those people who are not just mourn the past, but also cherish the bittersweet memories. You mourn about the trips you never went on together with your loved ones. The future you’ll never have with them. The sweet moments you’ll never share again. The silliest jokes. The ‘i love you’ unsaid. The person you can no longer text. The version of you and them that will never exist ever again.
There was a peculiar ache tied to places that once called home, somewhere between dreams and reality, a space that now filled with fragile walls of memory. The door is always open, but it looks shut. Doom and gloom. We may actually looking at different things at this moment. The life we won’t live. In this empty room that once filled with laughter from your silliest jokes, it only just left with shadows of what could have been now.
We found that apartment when love felt infinite. The kind of love that made the chipped tiles and creaky floors seem charming instead of flawed. It wasn’t perfect, but it was ours — or atleast, we wanted it to be. Every corner of the apartment was imbued with meaning. The balcony with stolen city views was where we dreamed out loud, conjuring futures we never imagined would crumble. The tiny kitchen became a stage for burnt pancakes, shared recipes, and laughter that echoed too brightly against the walls.
But love doesn’t exist in a vacuum.
The same walls that once cocooned us in warmth began to feel smaller and suffocating. The couch, once a place of comfort, became a gulf we couldn’t cross. The room that held our laughter now absorbed our tears. The love that filled the apartment had started to seep away — leaving nothing but shadows.
The apartment became a canvas for us. Some spaces hold memories too heavy to remain and some love stories end not with fireworks but with a quiet surrender. There was no climactic fight or grand goodbye. It was quieter than that — like the slow dimming of a light. We left, each carrying pieces of the life we’d tried to build, but not enough to recreate it.
There is something uniquely painful about realizing that love, no matter how sincere, isn’t always enough. But some stories are not meant to be lived out, but it shaped us. It teaches us how to love, how to let go, and how to live with bittersweet grief — to find a way to move forward. The apartment we won’t share stands as a reminder of that a place where love was beautiful, messy, and fleeting. It’s a chapter I can’t revisit, but one I will always carry with me.
Not every story ends the way we hope and that’s okay.
Sometimes, love is meant to be temporary, a moment in time that teaches us about ourselves and what we need. The dreams we once had might gone, but the lessons remain that love can be imperfect, that it can hurt and that it can still be worth it.
