“He Never Missed a Shot—Except Me.”
I don’t know what’s left of me anymore—
because every time he walks out to the crease,
under those blinding stadium lights,
something inside me quietly breaks.
The crowd roars his name like a prayer,
and I stand there—silent—
drowning in a love
that was never even meant to be mine.
I want to run away somewhere far,
where no match is ever broadcast,
where no commentator repeats his name,
where his cover drives don’t replay in my chest
like wounds that refuse to heal.
A place where, if his memory comes,
I can lock every door, every window,
and still not feel him everywhere.
I don’t understand myself anymore.
Why do I love a cricketer
who doesn’t even know I exist?
Why does my heart choose someone
the world already owns?
He smiles,
lost in his game,
in victories, in applause, in dreams that shine.
And I—
I’m losing myself
loving him in silence.
I can never reach him.
He belongs to the pitch,
to the sky full of floodlights,
to millions of voices calling his name—
he is a star,
and I…
I’m just a shadow in the stands.
And the worst part is—
I can’t even breathe without him anymore.
So maybe this is my life now:
watching him from a distance,
loving him in a way that only hurts,
living with a pain
that has no ending.
Because forgetting him…
feels harder than disappearing myself.
by ~jia