somewhere on my macbook there’s a folder that’s only yours, filled with all my writings about you. sometimes i take them out and read them to myself, like i’m checking whether the past still has teeth. it doesn’t, not the way it used to. i don’t miss you anymore. life has been kinder to me without you in it. i’m healthier. i’m lighter. there’s color in my face again, a glow i thought you took with you. turns out it was only buried. i got a little taste of what it feels like to be met by someone who actually wants to see you, someone who makes time without making it a negotiation, who shows up on your birthday with something pink just because they remembered, who plans a sunset because they know you love pink skies. it was enough to remind me, love can be simple when it’s real, and being cared for shouldn’t feel like work. i didn’t want this ending. i didn’t want to lose you the way i did. but i know this much now, you were never going to make me happy, because i was always going to be the one trying. i would have kept choosing you until there was nothing left of me, until i forgot what my own life feels like. and i’m grateful i don’t have to find out how far i would have disappeared. this is the last time i write you into my sentences. this is the last time you get a page in my story. i’m not looking back. i’m not waiting. i’m not returning. i’m going quiet now because i’m happy. i’m loved. i’m free. and i’m at peace.