He never said it, but I finally heard the truth. And this time, I didn't argue with it.
There was no big fight.
No final text thread.
No dramatic scene.
Just a quiet moment when I looked around and finally saw it for what it was.
It is not a situationship.
Not something waiting to bloom.
Just a place I kept returning to,
because I didn't know how to stop hoping.
I had loved him in my own way.
With care.
With patience.
With my presence, even when his absence screamed louder.
I softened my voice,
adjusted my expectations,
lowered my standards so gently I barely noticed.
And still…
it was never enough.
I was never his.
Not in title.
Not in treatment.
Not in truth.
And it took everything in me to finally accept that.
There's something quiet and painful about choosing yourself
when all you wanted was to be chosen by someone else.
But I did it.
I let go.
Not all at once.
Not without crying.
Not without looking back.
But I let go.
I stopped texting.
Stopped showing up.
Stopped inventing reasons to check on him.
Stopped trying to make "almost" feel like enough.
I didn't send a final message.
Didn't deliver the talk.
Didn't ask him to explain himself again.
Because I finally realized:
I already had all the answers.
He was never going to love me the way I needed.
Not because I was unlovable
but because he was unwilling.
And maybe that's the worst kind of heartbreak:
being almost loved by someone you fully gave your heart to.
But I survived it.
And in that survival,
I found something I didn't expect.
Not joy.
Not clarity.
Not closure.
Just… air.
And a little more room to breathe.