Zu instabil fürs Leben, zu stabil fürn Tod!

Not because I didn’t care anymore

but because I finally understood that love

shouldn’t feel like a negotiation.

I was never supposed to convince you

to stay, to try, to feel.

If it was real,

you would’ve met me halfway

without me having to beg for it.

And maybe you did care,

in your own quiet, confusing way.

But I needed something louder.

Something certain.

Something that didn’t make me question

whether I was wanted or just convenient.

So I chose myself

not because it was easy,

but because loving you

I forgive you but this chapter’s done.

I won’t return to where I was undone.

I won’t keep standing half-in, half-out,

calling confusion love or doubt a route.

You tried your best.

Maybe.

But I don’t remember an apology,

an I’m sorry said honestly.

I went back to therapy 

again and again.

I faced what hurt

and named where it began.

You stayed exactly where you were,

calling distance space,

calling silence healing,

calling avoidance grace.

I loved the man you were before 

the one who chose me, tried for me, stayed.

The one who showed up with intention,

who didn’t make love something delayed.

The man who spoke with certainty,

who didn’t make me doubt my place.

The man who looked me in the eye

and didn’t flinch from closeness or pace.

Then everything fell apart.

And I didn’t leave.

I stood beside you when your world collapsed,

when your future stalled, when you felt small.

I carried hope, structure, belief for two

while you barely had strength at all.

I held space while you rebuilt,

while you tried to survive yourself.

I never made you feel less than 

never turned your pain into something to shelve.

I loved you when it was heavy,

when staying wasn’t easy or neat.

When loving you meant patience,

and loyalty cost me sleep.

I asked for very little 

just honesty, just ground.

But slowly, quietly,

you stopped meeting me where I stood.

Then there was the man you became 

after the dust had settled.

Colder.

Sharper.

Arms-length love, carefully rationed.

You pulled away in silence,

called distance working on me.

You said you couldn’t do a relationship,

but asked me not to leave.

You asked for friendship,

for understanding, for time.

You kept me close enough to steady you

but never close enough to be mine.

I had a life.Children.

Responsibility.

A world that required presence and truth.

You treated that like an inconvenience,

like something I should move or remove.

You blamed my life for your distance,

my steadiness for your fear.

Called it all too complicated,

too heavy, too unclear.

But if my life were the problem,

you wouldn’t have stayed so near.

You wouldn’t have leaned on my calm

or circled once I disappeared.

You used my situation as shelter,

a reason tidy and neat 

something solid to point at

instead of saying you couldn’t meet me halfway,

or show up,

or choose me completely.

You wanted the reward

without paying the price,

the safety of love

without showing up twice.

And then you slept with someone else 

and told me like it meant nothing at all.

Not with care.

Not with kindness.

Just the final, careless blow.

That was the moment.

Not because it hurt 

but because it stripped away the lie.

I saw clearly who you were now,

and who you would never be again.

I didn’t shout.

I didn’t beg.

I didn’t chase explanations

you were never going to give.

I walked away quietly,

with what dignity remained,

because staying any longer

meant teaching myself pain.

I realised I was loving a memory

while standing in front of a stranger.

Waiting for a version of you

that no longer existed 

and staying was becoming self-harm.

I stayed as long

as the woman I was could stay.

I believed for two.

I waited.

I hoped anyway.

That was the best

that I could do then.

Now I choose better.

Not anger.

Not blame.

I forgive you.

I close the door.