You wanted this. Not the tears, not the silence— but the ending. The open door. The echo of footsteps leaving. And for a while, I stayed standing in the ruins, still setting a place for you at a table you’d already abandoned.
I begged the past to answer. I folded memories like laundry, hoping they’d still fit. But love doesn’t live in a house where one person’s already gone.
I didn’t break us. You just stopped building. Stopped reaching. And I wore the weight of it, thinking if I loved hard enough, you might feel it again. You didn’t.
And that’s okay now. Because I finally see it— freedom wearing my own name, a sunrise that doesn’t ask your permission to rise.
You wanted this. And now, so do I.
Not because I stopped loving, but because I started living without waiting for you to come back.
You can keep the silence. I’ll take the peace. You can have the past— I’m making room for something that stays.