No regrets…
about the paragraphs I sent.

I’ve long accepted that not every sentence lands gently.
Some come off too bare.
Others, far too heavy.
But I still let them go—
Maybe because I needed to hear them myself.

Each paragraph was a pause between heartbeats.
Each one…
a letter I refused to leave unwritten.

There were long texts—
some confessed I was in love.
Some whispered I’m hurt.
Others begged for clarity—
even knowing it might never come.
Some said, “I’m still trying.”
Others… “I’m giving up.”
Even when it tore something in me.

But I kept writing.
Because even silence deserves something to speak to.

Those words weren’t always meant for replies.
They weren’t written for validation.
Sometimes…
they were just a lifeline to myself.
A way to hold on
when everything else was falling apart.

And no,
I don’t regret a single one.
Because in a world where so much remains unsaid,
those paragraphs—
they were my way of healing.
My way of screaming without making a sound.
My way of remembering that I felt something.
That I tried.
That I didn’t shut down completely.

So no...
No regrets about the paragraphs I sent.
They saved me more than anyone ever will know.