The old leather-bound notebook sat on the wooden desk, its edges worn from years of being thumbed through. Inside, the ink had faded, but the words still held their weight—stories of love, loss, and moments frozen in time. This was Millkzy’s notebook, a collection of thoughts and memories that had shaped his life.

Millkzy wasn’t always one for writing. He preferred to live in the moment rather than record it. But one day, he found himself alone, yearning for something—someone—that was slipping away. That was when he picked up the notebook and began to write.

A Love Remembered

The first pages were filled with joy. He wrote about her—the girl who had changed everything. He remembered the way her laughter echoed in the empty streets, how her eyes sparkled under the city lights. He wrote about their long conversations, the way she understood him without words, and how she always traced circles on his palm when they held hands.

For Millkzy, love had been a whirlwind. It was unexpected yet familiar, something he thought he would never find. And yet, there she was—his muse, his heartbeat, his reason to believe in forever.

But love, as he would soon learn, wasn’t always meant to last.

The Loss That Followed

The tone of the entries changed as he flipped through the pages. The ink grew darker, the handwriting more rushed. The words became fragments, as if writing them down made the pain more real.

“I don’t know what to do without you.”

“Today, I walked past the café where we used to sit. The chair across from me was empty.”

“I wish I could go back to the moment before everything changed.”

She was gone. Maybe it was distance, maybe time, or maybe just life pulling them apart. He never wrote about how it ended—just that it did. And that was enough.

Finding Meaning in the Pages

Years later, Millkzy found himself sitting at the same desk where he had once poured his heart into those pages. He flipped through the notebook, revisiting the past, letting the emotions wash over him like waves returning to shore.

He realized something then—love, even when lost, was never really gone. It lingered in the memories, in the spaces between words, in the pages that told their story. It had shaped him, taught him, made him who he was.

With a deep breath, he picked up a pen and turned to the last empty page.

“If you ever read this, know that I loved you. I still do. And maybe, in another life, we’ll write a different ending.”

With that, he closed the notebook, letting time and fate decide what came next.

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