I didn't think this day would come, not so soon, not like this. But tonight, as I sit here with the weight of silence pressing on me, the thought I've been pushing away finally surfaced: what if I have to let go?
I don't know what scares me more—the possibility of losing them, or the possibility that I've already started to lose them without admitting it.
I love them. I do. More than I've ever loved anyone. That's why I've stayed through the drifting, the distance, the slow unraveling of what we once were. I've poured myself into this love, given the best and the broken parts of me, hoping that somehow it would be enough to keep us whole. And maybe it was, once. But lately, it feels like I'm reaching across an ocean with no shore in sight.
The truth is, I don't want to let go. I don't want to imagine a life where I don't wake up thinking of them, where I don't reach for my phone hoping for a message that makes me smile. I don't want to lose the memories—the late-night talks, the laughter that spilled out of us like music, the quiet moments that felt like home. Those memories still anchor me, still convince me that what we have is worth holding on to.
But there's this other voice now, small but persistent, whispering at the edges of my heart: what if holding on is only hurting you? What if love isn't supposed to feel this heavy?
I try to silence it, to push it away, but tonight it grew louder. It's not that I've decided to let go. I haven't. I can't. But I've realized that the thought has made its home inside me, and no matter how much I fight it, it's not leaving.
Sometimes I wonder if they feel the same distance I do. Do they notice how we've grown quiet, how conversations feel like walking on thin glass? Or are they already halfway gone, waiting for me to notice, waiting for me to be the one brave—or foolish—enough to end it?
I hate myself for thinking this way. For even writing these words. It feels like a betrayal, like admitting I'm preparing for a world without them. But isn't it more of a betrayal to myself, to ignore the truth I can already sense? That maybe love is no longer enough, no matter how much I give?
Still, I'm not ready. Not tonight. Maybe not for a long time. I'm clinging, even as I feel the rope burning my hands. Because letting go doesn't just mean losing them—it means losing the version of myself I've only ever been with them. It means standing alone in a silence I'm not sure I can bear.
So I'll hold on, at least for now. I'll keep trying, keep hoping, keep loving with what I have left. But deep down, I know that if the day ever comes when I can't carry this anymore, I'll remember tonight. I'll remember that the thought of letting go didn't arrive suddenly—it started quietly, with a whisper, and grew into a possibility I can no longer ignore.
And maybe that's the cruelest part of love—that it can end not with anger, not with a fight, but with a slow, aching drift that leaves you standing at the edge of a choice you never wanted to make.
For now, I choose to stay. But the thought is here. And I don't know if it will ever leave.