I wasn’t as honest as I thought
I thought I was being honest back then. I kept telling myself I was just careful, just taking things slow, just protecting my peace. It sounded right in my head. It felt responsible. But it wasn’t honesty. It was me avoiding things I didn’t know how to face.
You were one of the few people who actually tried to understand me. Not just the surface version, but the parts I don’t usually show. And instead of meeting you there, I kept pulling back. Not in a big obvious way, just little things. Delayed replies. Half answers. Acting like everything was fine when it wasn’t.
A part of me expected you to push through it. I thought you’d call me out, ask harder questions, stay anyway. But you didn’t. You respected what I was showing you, even if it wasn’t the full truth. And eventually, you left.
I remember seeing you after that. You didn’t say much, but it was obvious something changed. You seemed hurt, just quieter about it. I noticed, I just didn’t do anything. I acted normal like nothing happened, and you went along with it even if it clearly cost you something.
Then you tried again. You opened up, gave it another chance. And I panicked. Not because I didn’t care, but because I cared more than I was comfortable admitting. So I did what I always do. I deflected. I avoided. I made it unclear again. I think that was the moment you finally gave up.
Now I keep replaying everything. Not in a dramatic way, just in random moments. Conversations that feel empty. People who are nice, but don’t really reach me. It’s not their fault. It just feels different. With you, things felt real in a way I wasn’t ready for.
You saw me for who I was and who I could be. And instead of leaning into that, I got scared. It felt like I was losing control, like I couldn’t hide behind my usual excuses anymore.
I told myself I was choosing myself back then. But I wasn’t. I chose comfort. I chose ego. I chose things that didn’t require me to be vulnerable.
You were actually choosing yourself the whole time. You were honest, open, and clear about what you felt. And I didn’t know how to meet you there.
I didn’t lose you all at once. I let you go slowly, through all the moments I chose not to show up. And now I’m left with that, knowing I had something real and didn’t know what to do with it.