u/Emotional-Tadpole-92

Sorting through the wreckage of old ambitions only to find only a sharpened sense of irony

And watching the candle flicker out on another year of holding the integrity of a collapse

Thinking of the names I no longer call and the silence where the pulse used to rest

The way love became less of a fire and more of a predatory loan I’ll never quite clear

Wishing for a clean erasure of my existence to slip beneath the surface without a ripple, leaving no cache no trail, no eulogy...

Not a legacy but a quiet un-becoming as the evening star sync with mundane mood

Tracing the geometry of every mistake until the shame starts to look like a map of home

Wondering if the man I was would even recognize this carefully curated corpse I now resemble

Checking the locks one last time as if safety isn't just a lack of imagination

Waiting for the dawn to break against my chest like a fever I am finally old enough to not survive

Wanting to become While waiting to flee

There are mornings now when I wake up and immediately reach for distraction. It's the dopamine without which I know I might not last the day.

A coffee. Work emails. Crossword. Some noise on the telly... Sometimes I just start chopping vegetables... Without any intention or desire to cook or even eat... Anything that keeps me from sitting too long with the truth.

But sometimes the quiet wins anyway.

And in that quiet, I think about you.

Small realizations arriving slowly, still. Like finally understanding that you were never asking for perfection from anyone but yourself and I for consistency.

You wanted to stop performing with strength all the time, and despite my efforts you found solace in lies. And I see now how tired you were. More than me even because they gnawed at you too.

Tired of carrying yourself through disappointments while pretending they did not reach you, I saw you starting to wither. But you had this way of staying hopeful even after people gave you every reason not to, at least in the surface. I used to admire that casually. Now I think it may have been the bravest thing about you. You didn't let people in on your disappointments.

I don’t think people understood the pressure surrounding you. Everyone sees a strong woman and assumes she is fine. That she can wait forever. That she does not ache the same way other people ache.

But I remember the pauses in your voice sometimes. The ones that lasted only a second too long.

I remember all those whose memories haunted you; those who liked your independence right until it required emotional responsibility from them.

Those who called you 'intimidating' when what they really meant was: you noticed inconsistency too quickly.

Still, you kept trying anyway. That part still undoes me a little. Because bitterness would have been easier. Smaller. Even safer.

But you kept believing there was still something honest waiting for you somewhere. And I wonder if you know how rare that became each time I kept looking for it in you and you for it in me.

Some nights I think about all the moments I should have spoken more gently to you. I should have reminded you that your life was never behind. Only unfolding differently than you imagined.

I should have told you that loneliness can distort reality. It can make emotionally unavailable people seem more meaningful than they were. It can make waiting feel like failure.

But waiting for the wrong person to become right is its own kind of loss.

The truth is, I did not worry that you would end up alone even after me. But I worried that exhaustion will convince you to choose someone who makes you feel lonely beside them. And one day you will confuse relief from pressure with love.

And if I am honest, there is a selfish part of me that hopes when that day comes, you will still remember there was at least one person in this world who saw how hard you were trying all along, and tried to hold a mirror to you for as long as I could

Even during the years when nobody stayed long enough to understand you fully. Especially then.

There are mornings now when I wake up and immediately reach for distraction. It's the dopamine but without which I know I might not last the day.

A coffee. Work emails. Crossword. Some noise on the telly... Sometimes I just start chopping vegetables... Without any intention or desire to cook or even eat... Anything that keeps me from sitting too long with the truth.

But sometimes the quiet wins anyway.

And in that quiet, I think about you.

Small realizations arriving slowly, still. Like finally understanding that you were never asking for perfection from anyone but yourself and I for consistency.

You wanted to stop performing with strength all the time, and despite my efforts you found solace in lies. And I see now how tired you were. More than me even because they gnawed at you too.

Tired of carrying yourself through disappointments while pretending they did not reach you. You had this way of staying hopeful even after people gave you every reason not to. I used to admire that casually. Now I think it may have been the bravest thing about you.

I don’t think people understood the pressure surrounding you. Everyone sees a strong woman and assumes she is fine. That she can wait forever. That she does not ache the same way other people ache.

But I remember the pauses in your voice sometimes. The ones that lasted only a second too long.

I remember all those whose memories haunted you; those who liked your independence right until it required emotional responsibility from them.

Those who called you 'intimidating' when what they really meant was: you noticed inconsistency too quickly.

Still, you kept trying anyway. That part still undoes me a little. Because bitterness would have been easier. Smaller. Even safer.

But you kept believing there was still something honest waiting for you somewhere. And I wonder if you know how rare that became each time I kept looking for it in you and you for it in me.

Some nights I think about all the moments I should have spoken more gently to you. I should have reminded you that your life was never behind. Only unfolding differently than you imagined.

I should have told you that loneliness can distort reality. It can make emotionally unavailable people seem more meaningful than they were. It can make waiting feel like failure.

But waiting for the wrong person to become right is its own kind of loss.

The truth is, I did not worry that you would end up alone even after me. But I worried that exhaustion will convince you to choose someone who makes you feel lonely beside them. And one day you will confuse relief from pressure with love.

You deserve someone whose presence quiets the constant negotiations inside you. Someone consistent. Someone emotionally awake. Someone who does not make you earn reassurance like it is a reward.

But I know it's not me that you seek. So I do hope one day you meet someone who notices the care underneath your independence. Someone who understands that strong people need gentleness too.

And if I am honest, there is a selfish part of me that hopes when that day comes, you will still remember there was at least one person in this world who saw how hard you were trying all along, and tried to hold a mirror to you for as long as I could

Even during the years when nobody stayed long enough to understand you fully. Especially then.

Hey,

I keep thinking about how easy you were, at the start. Or rather how easy it was to talk to you at the start.

You were light, almost carelessly casual, and I stayed because it felt safe to not expect anything from you.

But had it had stayed there, I wouldn’t be writing this. But you changed the pace. And I decided to keep up.

You started asking things that made me pause. And I leaned in without realizing when that happened. I started waiting for you. Reading your words twice. Sharing more than I intended and asking more than I could process at times.

That’s where it deepened. It felt intentional, like I was being understood in a way that doesn’t happen often. And I trusted that more than I should have. And believed that it could finally go right.

But I felt it, even then. That small hesitation. Things not lining up cleanly. Stories shifting just slightly in the re-telling. Questions about you that never really got answered.

I noticed. I just kept choosing not to. When I asked, you gave me half-answers. Or answers that sounded right until I thought about them again. Sometimes you just moved us past it. And I let you. Because I wanted to believe so badly.

I think I believed in the feeling of us more than the truth of you.

Because it felt real. Steady. Convincing enough to silence doubt. Until it didn’t. And the shift was quiet.

Your words started feeling placed instead of honest. And then the truth slipped through, not enough to confront, just enough to rearrange everything. Not just that you weren’t who I thought, but that I stayed inside something that only worked because I kept believing it.

I kept expecting it to make sense again. It never did. Now it’s clearer.

And what stays with me is this—

I felt it coming, more than once, and I still chose you anyway.

And if I could have a do-over, I would still choose you...

Hey,

I keep thinking about how easy you were, at the start. Or rather how easy it was to talk to you at the start.

You were light, almost carelessly casual, and I stayed because it felt safe to not expect anything from you.

But had it had stayed there, I wouldn’t be writing this. But you changed the pace. And I decided to keep up.

You started asking things that made me pause. And I leaned in without realizing when that happened. I started waiting for you. Reading your words twice. Sharing more than I intended and asking more than I could process at times.

That’s where it deepened. It felt intentional, like I was being understood in a way that doesn’t happen often. And I trusted that more than I should have. And believed that it could finally go right.

But I felt it, even then. That small hesitation. Things not lining up cleanly. Stories shifting just slightly in the re-telling. Questions about you that never really got answered.

I noticed. I just kept choosing not to. When I asked, you gave me half-answers. Or answers that sounded right until I thought about them again. Sometimes you just moved us past it. And I let you. Because I wanted to believe so badly.

I think I believed in the feeling of us more than the truth of you.

Because it felt real. Steady. Convincing enough to silence doubt. Until it didn’t. And the shift was quiet.

Your words started feeling placed instead of honest. And then the truth slipped through, not enough to confront, just enough to rearrange everything. Not just that you weren’t who I thought, but that I stayed inside something that only worked because I kept believing it.

I kept expecting it to make sense again. It never did. Now it’s clearer.

And what stays with me is this—

I felt it coming, more than once, and I still chose you anyway.

And if I could have a do-over, I would still choose you...

You held me

with a

kind of hesitation

that felt

almost like care

As if

loving me

required a certain distance...

As if

closeness

would expose

how little

of us

could really be kept

There were days

I believed in us

So much

that it makes

leaving hurt

We managed

to move through time

like guests,

touching things

we would not be

allowed to take,

memorizing

what was never ours

Now

All I remember

is the moment

you became

someone else’s

It was not sudden

The signs were there

Then the curtain fell

And you disappeared

I was still speaking

of you

when that happened

and it stopped

everything

in its tracks

My own thoughts

started arriving

a few seconds too late

I kept expecting

the world

to correct itself,

to place me

back inside something

that made sense

It never did

Now

I understand

what we were

Not a love,

not even a loss...

just an interruption

that lasted too long

You held me

with a

kind of hesitation

that felt

almost like care

As if

loving me

required a certain distance...

As if

closeness

would expose

how little

of us

could really be kept

There were days

I believed in us

So much

that it makes

leaving hurt

We managed

to move through time

like guests,

touching things

we would not be

allowed to take,

memorizing

what was never ours

Now

All I remember

is the moment

you became

someone else’s

It was not sudden

The signs were there

Then the curtain fell

And you disappeared

I was still speaking

of you

when that happened

and it stopped

everything

in its tracks

My own thoughts

started arriving

a few seconds too late

I kept expecting

the world

to correct itself,

to place me

back inside something

that made sense

It never did

Now

I understand

what we were

Not a love,

not even a loss...

just an interruption

that lasted too long