I am not really sure what to write, but I know for sure that I miss you. Losing you—truly losing you this time—gives me a strange sense of peace while still stirring something in my chest, because nothing should ever end this way. But I will finally stop worrying about things I should never have had to worry about. Who could blame the silly girl in love with a silly man?
You will live a happy life, I know that. You won’t do to the girl you love what you did to me. Because as much as you hate admitting it, you know you did me wrong—and maybe, just maybe, a small part of you regrets it. And I know you will eventually become the man I once thought you already were.
Until the next many years, all I ask for is your understanding. I don’t need you to come back or attempt to fix what’s already broken. I just need you to understand that for once, I just wanted to feel like I was enough for you—to feel appreciated, valued, cherished. Because those are things every person deserves, even me.
Maybe someday, when the noise in your life finally quiets down, you’ll remember the softness, the laughter, the small things that were never actually small. Maybe you’ll remember how you were my priority—how I would cross the ocean for you.
And explain this to me—why did the woman after me deserve more care than I ever got? What did she give you that I couldn’t? Or is your kindness just selective, depending on who you feel like impressing that day? And tell me, while we’re being honest—why would you never defend me, not even once?
And about the other girl we always argued about—how did her feelings, a woman you barely even know, become more important than mine? Was it insecurity? Ego? Or was it simply wrong to ask to matter—to your choices, your actions, your heart—after everything I crossed and carried for you? Is it wrong to ask for kindness and comfort? Is it, as you once called it, madness? Why keep her when you knew how deeply it hurt me? Does your entertainment mean more than I ever did? Why do I keep losing, and why can you never be the one who loses?
Whatever the answer is, the damage has been too extensive, too deep-rooted in my heart. Did I ever deserve this? Is my truest colour only the way I react when I’m hurt? Am I truly the terrible person you reduced me to? Or was I simply the easiest one to blame?
And whether you remember or forget the person I was before all this, that rests with you. Rewrite the story however helps you sleep. I know who I was. I know what I gave. And I know that my love, flawed or not, was real. We were both just learning people, even if we learned at different costs.
But whether you remember how we were before all this or let it fade, I’ll be okay. Losing you hurts, but it also frees me. I’m learning to want what wants me back. I’m choosing peace instead of longing, even when longing feels familiar.
I hope my eyes will stop recognizing yours. I hope we never meet again—and I mean that with all the softness and all the steel left in me.
So this isn’t a plea, or a wish, or one of those half-hearted hopes we used to hold onto.
This is me, letting the last words settle, expecting nothing in return.
M
