Today, I closed the door.
Not halfway. Not with hesitation. I shut it completely—sealed it with trembling hands and a breaking heart. I cut off the last fragile thread that still tied me to you. I deleted you from my world in the most modern, almost trivial way—social media, messages, the quiet places where your name still lived. It may seem small, even silly to some. But to me, it was everything. It was the final act of choosing myself over a love that no longer chose me.
Because the truth is, I was fighting for something that had already slipped through your fingers. I was holding on to a love you wouldn’t even turn your head to see anymore. I kept pouring into something that had gone empty, convincing myself that if I just gave more, tried harder, stayed longer—you might remember us. But you didn’t. And somewhere along the way, I lost pieces of myself trying to keep something alive that had already died.
So this… this is me letting go.
Not because I stopped loving you. God, I wish it were that simple. My love for you is still here—aching, raw, unrelenting. It lingers in the quiet moments, in the spaces where your laughter used to echo, in the version of the future I can no longer have. Loving you didn’t just disappear. It had roots. Deep ones.
But love—real love—shouldn’t feel like begging to be seen. It shouldn’t feel like standing alone in something meant for two.
Maybe this will open your eyes. Maybe it won’t. I can’t hold onto “maybe” anymore. I can’t keep my heart suspended in hope that you’ll wake up and realize what we had, what I gave, what I was willing to be for you.
This is where I choose me.
I choose the slow, painful process of healing over the constant ache of staying. I choose to sit with the silence instead of chasing your absence. I choose to gather the broken pieces of my heart and learn, piece by piece, how to love again—starting with myself.
Closing this chapter feels like grief. Like mourning someone who is still alive but no longer mine. It feels like letting go of a version of me that existed only when you were there to see it.
But I know this ending is necessary.
Because I deserve a love that stays. A love that sees me. A love that doesn’t need to be fought for every single day just to exist.
So this is my goodbye.
Not out of anger. Not out of bitterness. But out of self-respect. Out of survival. Out of the quiet, growing understanding that sometimes the most powerful act of love… is letting go.
Farewell—for now.
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