Words you never said

Confessions of a notes app, part 2

This is part 2 of Confessions of a notes app, which I wrote over 2 years ago(!)

I asked people to share a notes draft with me—a text they never sent—and I want to thank everyone who contributed. I feel honoured to be trusted with these stories, and I’m glad someone gets to read your words, even if it’s not the ones they were originally intended for.

Some of the notes included in this piece have been shortened down, but you can view all the submissions in their full lengths here.

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I wonder how many confessions of love are hidden in notes apps around the world. Passionate words written in brief moments of confidence — carefully crafted, but never sent.

The notes app is the modern diary: a good mix between “Eggs, tomatoes, laundry detergent” and “I think the reason I feel lonely is because I never really open up to people.” Everything gets thrown in there, making it a decent representation of our brain with all of its tabs open.

To-do lists, half-written stories, email drafts, 2 AM thoughts. And alongside the heartbreakingly serious and the bound-to-be-viral tweets: the graveyard. All the ideas we never acted on, plans that didn’t happen, things we never said.

I almost find those the most interesting. That’s where all the longing lies; the declarations and glittery ideas that might not be realistic, but still represent something in us.

We all have these worlds inside. We all, to varying degrees, make up conversations and scenarios in our minds. Most of the time though, the other person doesn’t end up following the script, and we don’t tell them what we hoped they would say or do either, it just gets tucked away in our imaginary rooms.

It’s rare to get access to these rooms. They might be opened in close relationships and vulnerable talks, but most of the time, we don’t see these parts of other people. We don’t get to read the journal or know which questions they didn’t ask that still haunt them.

Through an anonymous form though, 118 people let me in their door, sharing one of their drafts. Reading through, I loved how honest they were. How raw. How poetic. But what tugged at me the most was the simple fact that… they were never sent.

“Kathleen, I love you and want to marry you.”

Was never sent. Neither was:

“G, I like you… a lot. It has been really fun talking to you, however I want to know you more, how your day was, what makes you happy, what makes you sad and just spend my time with you. If you feel the same way about me, would you go out with me??”

And:

“Hey Joan, I’m sorry, I spazzed out in our last few conversations. I was struggling with all of the change this autumn and felt lost when things didn’t go as planned. I missed you, I regretted that we didn’t try longer, I felt like I didn’t understand you and I wish I had just asked instead of projecting. Thank you for being graceful with me… The truth is I’ll probably always love you.”

So many thoughts run through my mind, wanting to know the rest of the story. What happened? Why didn’t they hit send? Was it for the best or would it have altered everything?

The after

A majority of the notes were related to an after—after a breakup, after time had passed, after it was too late.

When something ends, it’s natural to reminisce, to dwell on moments, conversations, and the way your eyes met. You know them, and they you, but for each day that passes, that becomes less and less true. It’s like being locked out of a house you once owned the key to. You know where all the rooms are located and how the light flows in the bedroom window early in the morning. But they might have redecorated since you last saw it. Maybe even put in a window in the room that always felt a little dark.

“I’ve been wondering how things are over there—how’s your dad, your family, your siblings… and those two cats I miss as well. How have you all been handling this cold weather? I hope you find warmth, like the kind you gave me with your hugs. Have you been sleeping well? Eating well? But most of all, how are you? Do you still find ways to smile, even in small moments?”

“I miss your smile. I miss your stupid laugh and I miss trying to imitate it. I miss our late night convos while we’re both half passed out talking absolute nonsense. I miss our Spotify jams with encrypted messages in them. I miss arguing over which one of us Anger likes more. I miss acting goofy together and not feeling embarrassed or ashamed about it. I miss our staring contests. I miss listening to our song together. I miss our ring selfies when you would walk me to my door. I miss paying the tab before you could do it. I miss sharing sunset pics with each other. I miss our car karaoke seshs. I miss how we don’t even have to go anywhere crazy, yet we can still have the best time together. I miss laughing with you. I miss your sense of humor. I miss how you make me feel taken care of. I miss your big heart. I miss your presence. I miss just spending quality time with you. I just really miss you.”

It’s easy to get lost in all the things you no longer share—all the good. You had a valuable experience with someone, and that’s not just something to sweep under the rug. It mattered. And yet, it doesn’t necessarily change anything. Missing someone doesn’t mean they are right for you; chemistry can be blinding to incompatibility.

But it’s still important to get it off your chest—to let those honest feelings swirl around and try to capture them. That is how art and poetry get made.

Then the question of whether to send or not, can be left to simmer. Time usually tells. Sometimes, the bravest thing you can do is tell someone how you feel. Other times, the real strength lies in quietly pressing delete, over and over again.

“I've been looking for ways to hurt my heart since you left. Maybe if I can stamp on it enough times, I'll forget about you.”

“She started her period yesterday. An odd event to tearfully miss you, I know… but it’s something we discussed and prepared for together… along with all other aspects of her life. You’re the only person who truly helped me raise her. Not a co parent, but my partner. I know you use that word when describing why you’re so intuitive with kids, co parenting, but that’s not what it was to me—you were my partner. So it’s difficult when milestones happen with her… and you’re not here with me. I know on a conscious level you try to tell yourself you’ve come to a peace of knowing she’s officially not part of your life anymore, but I saw your face when I shared about her. Your quick “no that’s okay” when I ask if you’d like to see her picture, as she’s grown. Showing you how tall she is, your eyes trying not to feel. It’s lonely, Kev. Raising her by myself.”

“I think I only understood your feelings after it was too late.”

“I can't think about anything or anyone else. You can't imagine how difficult it is. How difficult not to write anything to you. Difficult to be silent when every part of me wants to talk to you, to hear from you, to see at least some small tiny message. I miss you so much. Have a nice day today.”

Heartbreak is a badge of honour: you dared to love, to feel.

And feelings can be really, really rough. But there is also comfort in knowing how universal they are—how we appreciate, long for, and cry about so many of the same things. We may think our situation is unique, but there is always someone else out there dealing with a similar thing. We are never truly alone.

The what if

“I look at you and all I see is a ‘what if’. What if things were different, what if we met sooner, what if this should happen. I look at you and see what my life could have been, kisses and laughter and mornings waking up to you. Yet, we are forced to make it end here. And when I allow myself to think deeply about us, it stirs an aching within my chest because I really think it could have been you. My almost love.”

“I wonder if you ever thought of me whenever we bumped into each other when we were at the same university, and if you also ever thought about what could have been—what could have happened if I had said yes to meeting you at the café.”

What-ifs are haunting. Some say almost worse than something ending, because you don’t know what it would actually be like—how it would feel. You only have fragments, leaving you to fill in the blanks yourself, imagining things that probably aren’t an accurate representation.

I’m a sucker for what-ifs, though. Because WHAT IF. What if things would work if you gave it a chance? What if your whole life would look different, had you only said yes to that date?

Whenever the romantic in me goes off in that direction, the logical part has to reel it back in. Because… I also believe that if it was supposed to happen, then it would have. You would have felt a strong enough pull.

So maybe everything happened exactly as it should. What if? And also: what if you are meant to meet again?

The secretly hopeful

Sometimes, the ‘what if’ has already been answered, but it’s not the outcome you longed for. When the damage is done, it’s easy to feel hopeless. And yet, it’s not the less in hopeless that shines through in each sentence, it’s the stubborn hope. It’s the almost desperate feeling of: I know it’s over, but maybe, just maybe, if I pour my heart out to them, everything will be okay.

“I always have and always will love you. I know we are not meant to be. It’s been 13 years now and even though I had to move on I still think of what could have been. I’m thankful to still have you in my life as a friend, but sometimes I think it would be so much easier to cut ties. There are some days that I can barely function because I feel like I NEED you and miss you. It is such an overwhelming feeling… I can’t do it though. I have never felt this pull toward anyone else in my life. Sometimes I cry wondering why I wasn’t enough then; yet you still continue to give me attention and show affection towards me. It’s so confusing and draining as much as it fills me with excitement to still have that connection with you! I’ve struggled with this everyday of my life since I met you. I just wish I could be so honest as to share this with you one day. Until then I’ll enjoy what I can get from you until I finally break.”

“You were my first girl crush, you don’t know it but you were how I realized such a major part of me. I got over you (twice) and I love how happy you are with your girlfriend… but sometimes I wish it was me.”

“You haven’t called me in forever. I don’t think it’s ever on your mind—it’s on mine. I’m an option, and I guess I’m OK with it if it means I cross your mind. But I sorta hoped it’d be otherwise. No, I wished and prayed and begged for it to be otherwise. Every other beautiful means nothing unless it comes from you. Every other person I could care less about—it’s still you for me.”

“I still love you in the way I save songs that remind me of a feeling I can’t name, in the way I imagine you holding me when the world feels too heavy, in the way I whisper to the ceiling at two in the morning: “where is he? is he okay? does he still think about me?” I crave your love. The one that used to feel like home. A love that’s sweet and slow, but also one that’s loud and alive like when we used to sing off-key in the car and the shower. I will always love you with a depth that terrifies me and maybe you as well. I memorized the way your voice sounds when you’re sleepy, the way your fingers used to feel intertwined with mine, the way your touch feels like, the way your eyes crinkle when you smile, the way you hum absentmindedly while cooking, that specific sigh you make when you’re frustrated but trying not to show it, the rhythm of your breath when you’re lost in thought, the pattern your fingers draw on my skin under the moonlight. And I cherish every second of everything and store what makes you you in a small museum in my heart where no one else has access. I don’t want us to be perfect anymore, I want us to be messy, overwhelming, all consuming, even. What if we pressed pause on “goodbye” and let “us” have another beginning? My soul misses yours. Eternally yours, G.”

Passion is so marvellous, so beautifully intense. The way it removes every nonchalant bone in our body and makes us press each little detail close to our heart.

And yeah, unrequited feelings can feel embarrassing. As can yearning. But at the end of the day, it’s a much greater fate being the one who feels, than the one who feels nothing at all.

Not playing it cool is cool.

The hurt

The notes app is also a great buffer for anger and hurt—when you feel something intensely, but don’t want to say something you’ll regret. Maybe because you know it won’t lead anywhere. Or that you shouldn’t have to ask for an apology in the first place, or beg to be chosen.

Some things are better left unsaid. But boy, how good it would feel to say them anyway. Because it still hurts. Because some things are still unfair or undeserved.

“YOURE NOT ALLOWED TO MISS ME IF YOURE THE REASON WE DONT TALK ANYMORE”

“Since I found out that you’re an actual pathological liar I can’t help but wonder: was any of it real? Did you ever even like me? Did we have anything in common for real? Or did you make it up just to “win me over.”

“Everyone around me tells me I’m better off without you. But if only they knew how you made me feel so seen and understood. I am unapologetically myself with you. And yet, every single day, you wake up and choose her instead. Someone you know drains you, someone you know doesn’t understand you like I do.”

“I still get haunted by thinking bout the day I confessed and it did not even matter to you...I hate you and I hate the fact that I still love you.”

“I gave you so much love and tried to help wherever I could and repair the damage me and others had done. You can't say you've forgiven me when you bring it up so often. I know I failed and I really don't need reminding of it, it is always in my head and on my conscience. Neither of us are very good at forgiving me. I can't keep being told I'm a problem, I need to be allowed to get better. I'm having therapy, trying to be a better son, brother and friend to all, but this hurts.”

“I was begging you to prove me wrong.”

“I told you that what you did hurt everyone around you, and that you needed to acknowledge that. I told you how you should apologise for what you did. Especially to mom, who did so much for you. And you did apologise, to her, to dad, and even to other people. But you never apologised to me, and that sucks.”

The letting go

If you’re lucky, someone will gently hold all the feelings you’re pouring out, even if you’re going your separate ways. If you’re lucky, you’ll both have the capacity to ask and answer the lingering questions. It’s easier to feel at peace then. To know you said all you needed to, and so did they.

But you won’t necessarily get that luxury. People ghost. Some are not emotionally available. Not every relationship has room for those kinds of conversations.

You might not get an explanation or your questions answered—and truth be told, they probably won’t be the answers you’re hoping for. You have to be okay with that. A friend of mine told me that last year, and I almost cursed her for it, because I hate the unanswered; I want to understand. But she’s right.

“I’m not sure if you knew this, because I never told you, but I really loved you.

I remember the first day we met. You walked up with coffee spilled on your jacket and immediately apologised for it… I found that so endearing. Automatically I felt at ease around you. Then you told me all about your ideas for a guitar theme subscription, while taking approx 1 million phone calls. We ate that rock solid bread with soup and do you remember we moved tables about 3 times just to get the right spot! That’s where we first talked about my quest for Isobel ...

The next time we met, we searched together through those charity shops searching for it, eventually ending up in that upstairs bookshop, I specifically remember the sun shining through the window and the way we caught each other’s eyes as we walked either end of the aisles of books.

I remember it all. Small detail and moments that no one else would have probably noticed or recalled. I don’t know why because my memory has never been strong but with you, they’ve just stuck.

For me that’s exactly why I had to let you go. It hurt too much to have had such a unique experience with you, to have so many sweet memories, and to know ultimately at the centre, it wasn’t reciprocated. It never made sense to me, I could never understand it and I don’t know if I ever will.”

“I don’t know what happened but this might be for the best. I will always love you - but maybe it’s better if we part for now.”

Some people are seasons to our years; they arrive and feel warm and exciting—a summer we want to last forever—but it can’t. Not every good thing is meant to stay. But that doesn’t mean we can’t let it be wonderful while it visits.

Because in the end, it’s not just something we lost, it’s something we gained. Memories, laughter, and connection were added to our lives, and those experiences are not gone even though we can’t have more with them.

As much as we want to be loved, we also have to be realistic. We have to remind ourselves of the reasons why it didn’t and wouldn’t work, no matter how much we wanted it to.

“I fell for the idea of you, desperately hoping that one day you would magically become that. Every red flag, every moment of doubt, was ignored each time you looked at me a certain way, or touched my arm, or laughed at a joke I made, only to return again later.

The truth is, we would never have worked as a couple. Our values, our beliefs, our perspectives on the world, may work towards a fascinating & enriching friendship, however as a couple, our differences could never align in such a way that would allow us to organically grow as partners & as equals, and certainly not as parents. In order for us to work, we both would have had to compromise who we are at our cores. Loneliness & a desperate need to feel wanted made me into someone I never wanted to be- subservient, jealous, doubtful and insecure. I was so sure our connection was unique & special for a reason, and that may still be so, however I realise now that reason was never a romantic relationship. I will forever have love for you, and be thankful for the lessons you taught me about myself, without you even knowing.

My life is better for having known you, if for nothing more than allowing me to truly get to know myself.”

The end?

This isn’t an essay trying to convince you to text them. It’s not telling you it’s best to stay silent either. Only you know what’s right for you.

This is simply an essay trying to make you feel less alone—less crazy for overthinking, longing, and feeling deeply.

It’s also an essay of hope.

Some claim romance is dead in this modern world of dating. I confess, I get their perspective, I’ve heard stories and watched my friends go through a thing or two.

At the same time, I’ve also seen men and women write poetry for their crush. I’ve seen them declare and yearn, make gifts, play songs, and make 10 hour long phone calls. And if nothing else, these unsent texts prove just that: people care.

At the beginning of this piece, I said these messages were the graveyard of the notes app. I used to think graveyards represented sadness and loss, but what is a graveyard if not a testament of love—decades of love?

Something too important to erase.

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