I had to give you up.

Even though you were never really mine to begin with.

Not in the way I wanted.

Not in the way I needed.

You liked me—

but I loved you.

With the kind of love that forgives too much,

waits too long,

hurts too quietly.

I bent my standards for you.

Lowered the bar,

just to watch you still fall short.

And even then,

I made excuses with shaking hands

and tired eyes.

I didn’t want better.

I just wanted you—

better.

You, with effort.

You, with care.

You, with the love I kept giving,

hoping you’d finally give it back.

And yesterday—

you told me to move on.

To find someone who deserves me.

But how do I explain

that I don’t want anyone else?

That I never imagined love with another name?

Your name lives in my chest

like an echo that won’t stop bouncing off the walls.

I will always love you.

That’s the part that breaks me.

Because loving you

meant losing me.

And now I’m here—

giving you up.

Not because I stopped loving you,

but because you never started loving me

in the way I needed.

My heart hurts in places I didn’t know could ache.

It feels like death,

but I’m still breathing.

Still pretending.

Still curling into myself

wishing I could disappear

into a world where loving you

didn’t feel like punishment.

But I let you go.

And I’ll carry this hurt quietly,

like a folded note in my back pocket.

Unread. Unsent.

But never forgotten.