Seven years ago, I lost the love of my life
I don’t even know why I’m writing this. Maybe because I can’t tell anyone in my real life. Maybe because it’s almost 2 a.m. where I am and I’ve been staring at our old photos for longer than I’d like to admit.
Seven years ago, I lost the love of my life. We were together from the time we were 16 until we were 25.
When I say we grew up together, I mean it literally.
We graduated high school together. We sat through each other’s college graduations. We celebrated every little milestone because we were each other’s biggest cheerleaders. When I got rejected from the university I’d dreamed of attending for my master’s degree, I remember feeling like my future had completely fallen apart. She stayed with me while I cried, reminded me that one rejection didn’t define me, and somehow made me believe I’d be okay again.
When she got rejected from her dream job, I got to be that person for her. I remember bringing her food, sitting with her while she questioned everything, and telling her that one company didn’t get to decide her worth. That was our relationship. Whenever one of us fell apart, the other would quietly put the pieces back together.
People always talk about finding someone who stays through the hard times. She did. For nine years, we never broke up. Were we perfect? Absolutely not.
The last year of our relationship was messy. We fought. We got jealous. We made mistakes. We had disagreements that felt impossible to solve in the moment. But every single time, we found a way back to each other. We learned to apologise, compromised.
We talked things through, even when it took hours.
There was never cheating. There was never another person. There wasn’t one huge betrayal that destroyed us.
I grew up in a very religious family where homosexuality wasn’t just considered wrong. it was considered a sin. I spent years trying to convince myself that maybe if I prayed enough, those feelings would disappear. They never did. Then, when I was 25, I got an opportunity to leave the country. She wanted us to stay together. She even talked about following me someday. The problem was that she’d already built a career back home. She had worked incredibly hard for it, and I knew asking her to leave everything behind wasn’t a small thing. Instead of trusting us to figure it out together, I ended the relationship.
For years, whenever I thought about it, I blamed religion. I blamed my family. I blamed distance. I blamed timing. Those explanations were easier to live with. But somewhere over the last seven years, I’ve had to admit something that hurts even more.
Religion didn’t end our relationship. Fear did.
I was scared of choosing her over everything I’d been taught. I was scared of disappointing my family. I was scared that she’d give up her career for me and resent me one day.I was scared that we’d fail. So I never gave us the chance. I made the decision for both of us because I convinced myself it was the responsible thing to do.
Looking back, I think it was just fear pretending to be responsibility. The last time we spoke was about six months after we broke up. The conversation wasn’t dramatic. We talked about life for a while, and before we ended the conversation, she joked, “You know you can always come back to me.”
She’s always been an incredibly private person, so after we broke up, I never really knew if she’d moved on or if she’d found someone else. I never asked, and no one ever volunteered that information.
Our friend just casually mentioned that she’d been trying to date, but that nothing had really worked out.
Hearing that broke my heart in a way I wasn’t expecting. Not because it means I have a chance I genuinely don’t know if I do, and I’m not assuming anything. It hurt because, for some reason, I’d always pictured her living the happy ending she deserved.
I imagined she’d meet someone kind, someone who wasn’t afraid to choose her, someone who would love her the way I should have. Instead, I just found myself hoping she’s okay.
Part of me wants to send her a message. Not because I expect us to get back together. Not because I think seven years can simply disappear. I just want her to know that I finally understand. That it was never because she wasn’t enough. That I never stopped loving her. That I wasn’t forced to leave. I chose fear over love. The other part of me thinks I have no right to show up after seven years.Maybe she’s finally healed. Maybe hearing from me would undo years of moving on. Maybe the kindest thing I can do is stay silent and let her keep the peace she fought so hard to find.
My love, I’m sure you’ll never see this but just in case…
I’m not writing this because I expect anything from you. I’m not expecting you to come back. I’m not expecting forgiveness. I’m not even expecting a reply.
I just want you to know that I’m sorry. I’m sorry for making the decision for both of us. I’m sorry that I wasn’t brave enough to choose us. I’m sorry that I let fear convince me I was doing the right thing when all I was really doing was walking away from the best thing that ever happened to me. If you ever wanted answers, I would answer every single question you have, no matter how painful they are. And if apologizing a thousand times would somehow lessen the hurt I caused you, I would do it without hesitation. I finally found the freedom I’d been searching for all those years. I built a life in another country.
I have a beautiful place now. It’s colorful, warm, and everything I imagined I wanted when I was younger.
From the outside, it probably looks like I made it.
But it doesn’t feel like the dream I imagined.
Because every version of that dream always had you in it. I always pictured us growing old together.
I pictured decorating our first home together, arguing over paint colors, adopting dogs before eventually having kids. I pictured celebrating birthdays, holidays, promotions, and ordinary Tuesdays with you beside me.
Whenever I imagined my future, you were never missing from it. The only future I never imagined was the one where I had to live without you. I’m so sorry I couldn’t give you the life we talked about.
I’m sorry I broke your heart. Thank you for giving me nine years that I’ll spend the rest of my life being grateful for.
Originally shared by KartikaAtSea on r/actuallesbians on July 15th, 2026 at 10:35 PM UTC.
