When I thought of leaving,
I felt more relief than anything.
More than sadness, anger, hurt,
more than doubt.
That says a lot.

It got to a point where
the thought of ending it
felt like freedom.

I had, and still have,
so much love for who they were.
For who they were in the beginning.
But it got bad
so fast,
and also so slowly.

In hindsight,
I see now the things I missed.
The signs I overlooked,
was blinded to,
or chose to ignore
for the sake of love.

In the end,
I realized I had to love myself enough to walk away.
I had to love myself
more than them.

They were the first person
who I felt truly understood me.
Who tried to, every day.
It felt like they knew my soul,
and I knew theirs.

Our connection ran deep.
We both worked to build that.
At one point, it was absolutely beautiful.
I thought they were it for me.

But the flaws I carried,
the ones they once accepted,
were turned against me.
While their flaws
only grew.

I tried to accept them as they changed.
I tried to see the best.
I acknowledged my faults,
my part.
But they never could
acknowledge theirs.

I kept holding on
to the memory of who they were.
Hoping they’d return to that version.
Hoping love would be enough
to bring us back.

But I was the only one
still reaching,
still trying,
still bending
until I couldn’t bend anymore
without breaking.

There were moments I questioned myself.
Was I asking too much?
Was I too sensitive?
Too broken?

Too sick?

They made me feel like I was.

But deep down,
something in me knew:
This isn’t what love is supposed to feel like.
It’s not supposed to be
so lonely
when you’re not alone.

I didn’t stop loving them.
I just started loving myself more.
Enough to see the truth.
Enough to walk away
without needing them to understand why.

Since then,
there’s been grief.
Not just for them,
but for the version of me
that stayed too long,
that tried too hard
to make something work
that was already gone.

But there’s also been peace.
A quiet, growing kind.
The kind that doesn’t come in a rush,
but settles in slowly
like sunlight after a long storm.

I’m learning to trust myself again.
To believe my feelings for the first time.
To know that love
shouldn’t require
the abandonment of self.

And sometimes,
I still miss what we once had.
But I don’t miss
who I became
in trying to keep it.

I carry the love,
the lessons,
and the letting go.

Not as a wound,
but as a reminder.
Of how far I’ve come,
of who I’ve chosen to be,
and of the kind of love
I now know and believe I deserve.