I miss you.

God, I hate admitting that. I hate that after everything, after the blocking, after the silence, after all of it—I still fucking miss you.

I miss the way you used to text me good morning. I miss your stupid jokes that weren't even that funny but made me smile anyway. I miss the way you'd send me random songs and say "this made me think of you." I miss staying up until 3 AM talking about nothing and everything.

I miss YOU. The real you. The one who actually seemed to care. The one who made me feel like maybe I wasn't so alone in this world.

And I know I shouldn't. I know you blocked me for a reason. I know you're probably not sitting there thinking about me the way I'm thinking about you. I know I should just move on and forget about it.

But I can't.

Because somewhere between all the late-night conversations and the inside jokes and the vulnerable moments, I started to actually care about you. Like, really care. And I don't know how to just turn that off.

I keep replaying our last conversation in my head, trying to figure out what I did wrong. Was it something I said? Something I didn't say? Did I come on too strong? Not strong enough? Did I misread everything?

I just wish you'd talk to me. That's all I want. Just one real conversation where you tell me what happened, why you left, what changed. I don't even need you to come back—I just need to understand.

Because this? This limbo of not knowing? It's killing me.

I look at my phone and I still expect to see your name pop up. Yeah i'm that miserable. I hear a song we used to listen to and my chest hurts. I see something funny and my first instinct is to send it to you, and then I remember I can't.

Do you ever think about me? Do you ever wonder how I'm doing? Do you ever regret blocking me, or was it that easy to just cut me out?

I want to be angry at you. I want to hate you for leaving without an explanation. But mostly I just miss you. And that's so much worse.

I miss the version of us that felt easy. The version where we could talk about anything. The version where I didn't have to second-guess every word I said or worry that I was too much or not enough.

I miss feeling like someone actually got me. Like someone actually wanted to know me, all of me, not just the good parts.

And maybe that was never real. Maybe I built it up in my head. Maybe you never felt the same way I did. But it felt real to me. And I can't just pretend it didn't matter.

I know you're not coming back. I know this letter doesn't change anything. I know you probably don't care and you've already moved on and I'm just some person you used to talk to.

But I needed to say it anyway. I needed to put it out there, even if you never see it. Even if it doesn't matter.

I miss you. I miss what we had. I miss what we could have been if you'd just stayed.

And I hate that I miss you. I hate that you still have this power over me. I hate that I'm sitting here writing this instead of moving on like I should be.

But I do. I miss you so fucking much.

I miss your voice. I miss your laugh. I miss the way you'd get excited talking about the things you love. I miss the comfortable silences. I miss feeling like I had someone who actually gave a shit.

I miss feeling like I mattered to someone.

And now I just feel stupid. Stupid for caring this much. Stupid for letting myself get attached. Stupid for thinking we had something real when maybe it was just one-sided the whole time.

I keep wondering if you ever actually cared or if I was just convenient. Someone to talk to when you were bored. Someone to fill the void until something better came along.

Was I ever real to you? Or was I just a placeholder?

I wish I could stop thinking about you. I wish I could delete you from my brain the way you deleted me from your life. I wish I could block you out the way you blocked me.

But I can't. Because unlike you, I actually cared. I actually meant the things I said. I actually wanted you in my life.

And now I'm just left here, missing someone who apparently doesn't miss me back.

I hope you're happy, wherever you are. I hope you found whatever it was you were looking for. I hope blocking me gave you the peace you needed.

Even though it destroyed mine.

I still check sometimes, you know. To see if you've unblocked me. To see if maybe you changed your mind. To see if maybe you miss me too.

But you haven't. And you probably won't. And I need to accept that.

I need to accept that you're gone. That we're done. That whatever we had is over and I need to let it go.

But god, I don't want to let it go. I don't want to accept it. I don't want to move on.

I just want you back.

I want to go back to when things were good. When we were good. When I didn't have to wonder if you cared because I just knew.

I want to go back to before you left. Before the block. Before everything fell apart.

But I can't. And that's the part that hurts the most.

I miss you. I miss us. I miss what we had and what we could have been.

And I'm so tired of missing you.

But I don't know how to stop.

So I guess I'll just keep carrying this around. Keep missing you in silence. Keep hoping maybe one day you'll reach out and tell me you miss me too.

Even though I know you won't.

I love you. I think I still love you. And I hate that I do. But I can't help it.

You meant something to me. You still mean something to me. Even if I don't mean anything to you anymore.

I hope you're doing okay. I hope you're happy. I hope you found what you were looking for.

And I hope maybe, somewhere deep down, you miss me too.

Even just a little bit.

VENT ABOUT TRANSNESS

god i’m so fucking exhausted from being scared of literally everything i do or want or become

like every single breath i take feels like i’m committing a crime against someone

against my parents

against women

against the trans community

against my own body

against the kid i used to be

women’s spaces first

i’m not even on T yet and i already feel like i’m trespassing

every time i think about going to the women’s section of the mosque one more time

i imagine someone looking at me twice

and then the whole room freezes

and i become the man who lied his way in

even though i grew up learning surahs in those same rows

even though i still cover the same way

even though that space was the only place i ever felt held

i’m terrified they’ll feel unsafe

i’m terrified they’ll see me as a predator

i’m terrified i’ll lose the last place that ever felt like home

and once i do start passing

i’ll have to leave anyway

and i don’t know how to grieve something i haven’t lost yet

but i’m already mourning it

then there’s complimenting women once i pass

i rehearse the sentences in my head every day

“you look nice”

“i like your hijab”

“that colour looks good on you”

and then i imagine their face changing

the smile dropping

the body tensing

the small step back

the sudden memory of every creepy guy story they’ve ever heard

and suddenly i’m one of them

just because my voice drops

just because my shoulders get broader

just because i look like a man now

i’m scared i’ll never be allowed to be kind again without it being read as a threat

i’m scared kindness is only safe when you’re seen as harmless

i’m scared i’ll have to stop talking to half the planet just to avoid being the villain

being outed in the wrong place

i picture it every time i leave the house

someone in the tram

someone in the bakery line

someone in the gym changing room

hearing my voice crack just a tiny bit

seeing the way my hips still move

noticing the faint outline of a binder if i ever get top surgery

and then it happens

the stare turns cold

the whisper starts

the phone comes out

the “that’s a man in the women’s bathroom”

the slurs

the fists

the crowd

i’m scared every public bathroom is a potential trap

i’m scared every changing room is a coin toss

i’m scared every “excuse me” is the beginning of violence

i’m scared i’ll never be able to just exist without scanning for exits

losing the people who loved the old me

my mom still thinks of me as her daughter

my dad still remembers the little girl he used to carry

my cousins still send me dresses for eid

and every time i imagine telling them

or showing them

or just standing in front of them as me

i feel like i’m murdering their kid

like i’m erasing the version of me they loved

and yeah i know they hurt me

i know my mom let the hairdresser shave my mustache even though i begged her not to

i know they deadname me on purpose sometimes

i know they act like transition is a personal attack on their parenting

but the guilt still lives in my throat

like i owe them the girl they raised

even though she was never real

even though she was killing me

choosing a new name and erasing theirs

they picked my name when i was born

they held me and looked at my tiny face and said “this is [deadname]”

they wrote it on my birth certificate

they called it a million times

they whispered it when i was sick

they yelled it when i was bad

they said it with love

and now i’m sitting here with a notes app full of boys’ names

trying to find one that doesn’t feel like a knife

every name i like feels like i’m stabbing them in the back

like i’m saying “thank you for nothing, i’m rewriting your gift”

i’m terrified the day i tell them my new name

they’ll look at me like i killed their child

and maybe i did

maybe i’m a monster for wanting to live

bottom growth i don’t want

i’m not even on gel yet

but i already panic every time i think about it

i don’t want a dick

i don’t want something new growing between my legs that wasn’t there before

i don’t want to look down and see a stranger

i just want to be a guy

i want the voice

the fat moving to my stomach

the beard

the flat chest

but i don’t want the rest

i’m scared it’ll happen anyway

i’m scared i’ll wake up one day and have to deal with something i never asked for

i’m scared i’ll hate my body even more

i’m scared i’ll feel like a fraud for not wanting it

like every trans guy who celebrates growth is silently judging me

like i’m not trans enough

like i’m broken in the wrong way

never passing + passing too well

i’m scared i’ll be stuck in between forever

voice too high

face too soft

body too curvy

stuck in “ma’am” hell

and then i’m scared i’ll pass so well i lose touch with trans community

that i’ll be read as just another cis guy

that people will stop seeing my history

that i’ll have to carry it alone

that i’ll feel guilty for “escaping” while others are still fighting

that i’ll become the thing i was afraid of: a man who forgets where he came from

medical gatekeeping & family sabotage

i’m scared my doctor will say “you’re not trans enough”

or “try therapy first”

or “your mom called and said you’re confused”

i’m scared my mom will find out i’m planning T

or throw away my stash if i get it

or tell everyone i’m “going through a phase”

or let the hairdresser shave my face again while i sit there frozen

i’m scared i’ll start and then have to stop because of money

or side effects

or regret

i’m scared of everything

being seen as a creep / predator forever

even if i never do anything wrong

even if i’m the most respectful person alive

once i pass

i’ll always be “that guy” in someone’s eyes

the potential threat

the one who has to prove he’s safe

every single time

i’m scared i’ll never get to just exist

without being on trial

betraying my own past self

sometimes i look at old photos

the girl i used to be

and i feel like i’m abandoning her

like i’m saying “you weren’t real”

“you were a mistake”

“you weren’t enough”

but she was me

she carried me here

she survived the hairdresser

she survived the deadnaming

she survived the fear

and now i’m choosing to leave her behind

and it feels like murder

and it feels like survival

and i don’t know how to hold both at once

i’m scared of staying

i’m scared of leaving

i’m scared of being loved

i’m scared of being hated

i’m scared of being seen

i’m scared of being invisible

i’m scared of everything

i just want to breathe without feeling like a criminal

is that too much to ask?

anyway

i’m gonna go stare at the wall now

maybe cry

maybe not

probably both

goodnight

Oh, and one more thing:

I'm going to send you a letter about something important soon. Block this email all you want—I have multiple ones. You can run, you can hide, you can block every account I have, but eventually you're going to have to face what you did. You don't get to just disappear and pretend this never happened. Not anymore.

— Someone who still cares, even though they shouldn't