Spotify says I played this endlessly. My heart knows exactly why
The Ache That Changed Shape
I’ve played this song more times than I can count this year—especially on the quiet drives home when I’m alone, replaying it until the lyrics blurred into the rhythm of my days. Sometimes I even sing louder when the chorus hits—I wish… —as if those old feelings still know their way through my voice. Every word pulls me back to the insecurity I once carried when Galih and I were “just friends,” to that messy, aching part of our transformation.
There was a time when loving him felt like a quiet bruise—soft, hidden, aching in places I couldn’t name. I wanted him, but held myself back. I hoped for him, but pretended I didn’t. That ache shaped me; it taught me how to love from a distance long before distance became our reality.
Now I’m married to the man I once whispered prayers about. My wish did come true, yet we’re still separated by cities, borders, and time zones. The ache has changed, but it hasn’t disappeared—it has grown gentler, deeper, rooted in the life we’re building.
It isn’t fear anymore. It isn’t insecurity.
It’s simply longing.
The kind that comes from knowing where home is, and waiting for the day my body finally catches up to where my heart already lives.
This song has become my remedy this year. It reminds me that we survived that chapter—and we will survive this one too. Wishes do come true: first when courage gently carried us beyond friendship, into a love neither of us expected. And each time I listen to this song, I gather a little more of that courage. Now, in marriage, our wishes are becoming real—slowly, tenderly, piece by piece—as we keep choosing each other and building the life we want.
Counting the days until we meet again… letting each sunrise teach me how to be brave.
P.S. To be honest, I don’t remember how this song came to me. But I do know this: I’m glad it found me when it did.