I loved you with the kind of quiet consistency that only comes when staying is harder than leaving. I reshaped myself to make room for you, never realizing that I was losing pieces of me in the process. I believed that love was a test of endurance—but effort isn't a currency for miracles.
We didn't end with a bang or a betrayal. We ended because we were two people moving at different depths. It’s a hard truth to sit with: that you can give everything and still come up short. I refuse to let what we had be minimized; it lived in me, and it changed me.
I am done blaming myself. I showed up, I was honest, and I loved you even when it terrified me. If that wasn't enough, it isn't because I was 'less than'—it's because some things are beyond the reach of a fight. I will miss you from a distance. I will remember you without tearing myself back open. One day, the ache will quiet down. Until then, I’ll hold the weight of it, because losing you doesn't make the love any less real.
