Letting go of love is not always a choice.
Sometimes, it's survival.
Sometimes, it's the only way to breathe again.
You told me that my love for you was a distraction,
like I was noise in your perfectly planned life.
While you labeled me a detour,
I held you like a destination.
You said I was in your way.
But you :
you were my way forward.
My light.
My prayer.
I clung to your name like a whispered salvation,
hoping you'd see what I was offering,
not perfection,
but sincerity.
Not a perfect version of me,
but all of me.
The real, cracked, quiet kind of love.
And maybe that's what made me a fool.
Not because I loved,
but because I thought you did too.
Because I believed the softness in your voice
and the way your hands lingered on mine.
I believed the almosts,
the maybe's,
the someday promises you never intended to keep.
While I was loving you with every unspoken part of my soul,
you were playing the part of
the guy who could've loved me
but never really did.
The guy who wore affection like a costume
until it bored him.
And me?
I became the fool.
Not because I lost you,
but because I lost myself trying to make you stay.
So now I'm learning.
Learning that letting go is not weakness.
That it takes more strength to walk away from a lie
than to stay chained to it.
That the love I gave wasn't worthless,
just misplaced.
And most of all,
that I wasn't wrong for loving you.
You were wrong for pretending you could love me back