One day, we will both disappear—
from each other's lives,
from this world,
perhaps even from memory.
But my sorrow was never that I would be gone.
My sorrow is that I remained
a face lost in the crowd,
while all I ever wished
was to be a small part of your innings.
I watched your life unfold
under floodlights that never dimmed,
celebrated your centuries in silence,
and felt every defeat
as though it had broken something in me too.
I carried your sadness in a heart
you never knew existed,
yet I was never allowed
to stand beside your joy.
I asked fate for only a moment—
one quiet over
from a match that belonged to millions—
but even that was not written for me.
The world loved the name on your jersey.
The world cheered when you walked onto the field.
But had there been no roaring stadiums,
no scoreboards,
no cameras chasing your every step—
had you been nothing more than an ordinary soul
walking an ordinary road—
I would have loved you exactly the same.
And now, as I slowly fade away,
I leave with a regret
that no passing season can erase:
that I never came close enough
for you to know
how deeply you were loved.
This story remained unfinished,
a match abandoned before its final over,
a letter never delivered,
a love never spoken.
Perhaps in another lifetime,
when destiny is kinder,
when there are no stands between us,
no distance measured by dreams,
no crowd separating your world from mine—
I will find you again.
And when I do,
I will love you with the same heart,
the same devotion,
the same unwavering faith.
Until then,
I remain what I have always been—
the girl in the crowd,
quietly cheering for you,
long after the stadium has gone silent.
Jia