Curse of Loving Things for Longer Than They Stay

Some people leave places easily.

They pack their bags, say their goodbyes, take a few pictures for memories, and move on.

I've always been suspicious of people like that.

Because how do you leave a place without leaving pieces of yourself behind?

How do you walk away from a routine that once held your entire life together?

How do you stop missing a version of yourself that only existed in a particular place, around particular people, during a particular season of your life?

I feel like that's why departures always feel heavier than they should.

Because of everything the leaving takes with it.

A chai spot you'll never visit in quite the same way again.

A playlist that accidentally became the soundtrack of a semester.

Conversations that ended so casually you didn't realize they were ending.

A version of yourself that existed for a while and then quietly disappeared.

Nobody warns you that growing up is mostly a series of small goodbyes disguised as ordinary days.

One day you're attending your last internship day without realizing you'll miss the routine.

One day you're saying goodbye to friends and talking about weekend plans like nothing is changing.

One day you're folding clothes into a suitcase and suddenly an entire chapter of your life fits into one bag.

And somehow that's supposed to feel normal.

I don't think it ever does.

I've always thought people talk too much about heartbreak and not enough about attachment.

Because heartbreak sounds dramatic.

Attachment is quieter.

Attachment is remembering how someone takes their tea.

Attachment is keeping a wrapper from a snack you shared because throwing it away feels weirdly emotional.

Attachment is knowing exactly which song belongs to which version of your life.

Attachment is a hostel room that starts feeling more like home than the place you came from.

It's strange.

The things that change us are rarely the things we expect.

Nobody remembers every assignment they submitted.

Nobody remembers attendance percentages.

Nobody remembers the exact details of ordinary Tuesdays.

But somehow we remember the evening chai.

The rainy walks.

The conversations outside classrooms.

The train journeys.

The people.

Always the people.

 that's the curse ig.

Not losing things.

Loving them enough that they leave fingerprints everywhere.

Years later, you'll hear a song, smell a perfume, pass a railway station, and suddenly an entire version of your life comes rushing back.

And for a moment you'll be nineteen again.

Or twenty two…..

Or whatever age you were when your heart decided that a temporary thing deserved permanent space inside it.

I used to think this was a weakness.

This inability to move on jaldiii.

This tendency to collect moments like souvenirs….

But lately I've been wondering if maybe that's what makes life beautiful.

To be affected.

To care.

To remember.

To let people, places, and ordinary afternoons leave marks on you.

The curse isn't loving things for longer than they stay.

The real curse would be never loving them enough to miss them at all. 🤍