I think the part that hurts the most isn’t even that we ended…
it’s that you didn’t know I loved you.
How could you not know?
I didn’t just say it—I lived it.
I showed up for you in ways that weren’t always easy. I put things on hold. I made space for you in my life, in my time, in my energy. I would’ve dropped anything if you needed me. Not because I had to… but because I wanted to.
You were never a question for me.
So reading that you “didn’t know I really actually loved you”… that broke something in me a little.
Because what more was I supposed to do? How much clearer could I have been?
I loved you in the ways I knew how. In the ways that felt real and intentional and consistent. I loved you with patience, with effort, with understanding. I loved you even when things weren’t perfect.
And maybe that’s the hardest part—
not that you didn’t feel it… but that you couldn’t see it.
I can understand feeling broken. I can understand not knowing how to receive love. But it doesn’t change the fact that it was there… fully, genuinely there.
I loved you.
Really loved you.
And I wish you would’ve known that when it actually mattered.