(Was in my feelings and ended up writing this 😭—Also, not a poem but a short story)

Should I feel relieved, or should I drown in sorrow?

You were mine, yet you felt like a ghost—always near, never close, a presence just beyond reach. We were stitched together in hellos and goodbyes, and yet, those three words were always a tether, a quiet salvation.

I love you.

And I did. I loved you like the moon loves the tide—pulling, aching, yearning. I cradled our moments like dying embers, desperate to keep them burning. I listened to your stories as if they were scripture, carved you into my bones like a prayer.

But nothing lasts, does it? Even the stars collapse, even the ocean recedes. We grew, we unraveled, still clutching the fragile thread spun from hope. A thread of promises unspoken, of glances that lingered too long, of whispered words that never found the air. I love you.—a plea, a truth, a wound.

Everything I clung to was woven into three simple words.

But threads fray. They stretch, they thin, they snap.

You never broke me—no, you never could. Too gentle, too kind, too impossibly you. But I broke. I became the silence between us, the shadow in your wake. It was I who let the thread fall limp in my hands, I who severed what little was left.

Perhaps it was never ours to hold. Perhaps we were only ever meant to be a moment, not a lifetime. And though my heart rebelled, though I begged the heavens to weave you into my fate, God’s hands have written a different story. One where your name is not beside mine, where your path leads elsewhere—somewhere I cannot follow.

But He has written my path too.

One where I will fill empty pages with stories, breathing life into words the way I once breathed you. One where I will be kind, not just to the world, but to myself. One where I will cherish the souls who cross my path, lift them as I rise, give them light when they are lost in the dark.

Perhaps I was not meant to love only one person, but to love the world—to change it, to leave it softer than I found it. And though the ache of losing you will remain, I will use it to shape something beautiful.

And yet, even as I walk away, even as I let the memories slip through my fingers like sand, I know—I will always love you, in some quiet, hidden place where time cannot reach.

But I must let you go.

The tears will dry. The hollow ache will soften. A heart once emptied will learn to beat full again. It just takes time. And time—oh, time—has already written our ending.

We were real. We were fleeting. We were everything, and yet, not enough.

We had our chances, but there will be no more after this. No more waiting, no more aching, no more hoping. Just this. This final moment. This final breath. This final goodbye.

But if nothing else, if nothing ever remains—know this:

Those three words were always true.

I really did love you.