I'm still remember... I met you with my hands open. I didn’t rush your steps or pull you forward when you hesitated.
When you pulled away, I didn’t chase. I told myself love could be patient that steadiness might teach safety.
When you needed space, I gave it. Not as a test, not with silence sharpened into punishment, but with trust.
When you came close again, I let you in. Even when part of me braced for the fall. When things stopped making sense, I asked. I chose conversation over stories, hope over assumptions.
But slowly, something became clear.
No matter how softly I spoke, you still vanished when things mattered. No matter how careful I was with your fear, closeness still felt like something you had to escape.
I learned how to wait. How to need less. How to explain myself gently, so I wouldn’t scare you away.
And somewhere in all that understanding,
One day I noticed. I was doing all the staying. All the holding. All the believing. I wasn’t being patient anymore. I was being alone with someone.
I can make space. But I can’t live inside it forever.
I can be kind. But I can’t become invisible.
I can regulate my heart, but I can’t build a relationship by myself.
So this isn’t anger. It’s not a slammed door or a lesson disguised as distance. It’s the quiet moment when you finally stop reaching and put your hands back around yourself.
I don’t leave because I stopped loving you. I leave because love needs to meet me halfway and because choosing you should never mean abandoning myself.