I don't really know when this story started. Maybe it started the night I realized I was tired of loving someone who didn't love me back. Love is not always dramatic. Sometimes it just quietly stops feeling like home. Like purple fading. Not ugly. Just… fading.
I used to think love meant staying. Trying harder. Being more patient. Understanding more. Whatever. But love shouldn't feel like you are slowly disappearing while still standing next to someone and pretending you are fine.
—
I just don't want that version of myself back. The one who waited. The one who thought memories could make people stay. They can't. People leave anyway. So… whatever.
This is not about him anymore. This is about learning how to move on without carrying that version of myself around.