A Silent Confession: Forgive Us

I always struggled to find the right words to say to you. Every time I tried, it felt like I was speaking from a place of anger or sadness, never the calm, clear place I wanted to be. What was it that you needed from me? I know I wasn’t perfect. I’ve made my mistakes, said too much when I should’ve been quiet, and sometimes over-explained when a simple silence would’ve been enough. I see now how that might have pushed you away at times, and for that, I’m sorry.

But even so, I wonder… Was it worth staying as long as we did? In the tough moments, when everything felt so heavy and tangled, I didn’t know if I was losing myself, You? or trying to hold on to something that wasn’t meant to last. Yet, even through all the bad, I kept trying. You kept trying. Because there were still those good moments, those quiet, beautiful pieces of us that made it all feel worth it. But I can’t help but wonder—would it have been kinder, to both of us, if we’d let go sooner? If we hadn’t waited until the weight of it all was too much to bear?

When the truth finally came, I felt like the ground had slipped out from under me. I didn’t know how to process the final betrayal for us, your cheating, how to move through the pain. I thought of my parents in that moment, and for the first time, I understood something I never did before. But you’ll never really know how much that hurt changed me, how much it still lingers in my thoughts. You weren’t me, you didn’t feel what I felt. And sometimes, even now, I can’t breathe when I think of how everything ended, how it all shifted so suddenly.

It’s strange how the quiet pieces of the past still find their way back to me—memories scattered in unexpected places, like fragments of someone I used to be. On those nights when I can’t sleep, when everything feels too big, I still ask myself: *Who am I without you?* I thought I knew once, but now it feels like I’m rebuilding from the ground up.

I’ve been learning a lot in therapy, slowly unraveling what I thought I needed from love, and discovering what I really wanted was never what we had. But here’s the thing—I still love you. I always will. Even if our story didn’t have the ending I imagined, you were the beginning of something that shaped me in ways I didn’t understand at the time. You’ll always be a part of me, no matter how far apart we are now.

Lately, I’ve been trying to remember who I am without us. I’ve been writing again, picking up my sketchbook when I can. I’m finding new things that make me feel alive—small moments of joy that I hadn’t noticed before. I’ve come to realize that I’m worthy of love, love that isn’t built on fear or doubt. A love that’s steady and trusting, where peace isn’t a fleeting visitor but a constant.

I’m no longer angry. It’s a quiet, strange sort of peace, but it’s there. I still miss you—so much it aches—but I’m learning how to live with that ache. You were once everything I hoped for, even if that love wasn’t meant to last. Sometimes, I wonder where my life is leading now. And where is it leading you?

There are still nights when I wish I could call you. To tell you the traumatizing moments like how I was taken advantage of. Wishing that you could pull me close and hold me But I’ve learned that if I said those things, it would only pull us back into the same hurtful cycle. It would take us back to a place we couldn’t seem to escape. So I kept my silence for these months, for both of us, because it hurt less in the moment than reopening old wounds.

The truth is, to me sometimes the world feels too big, the weight of everything too much. Work, anxiety, memories—sometimes it’s easier to shut down than to face another conversation that circles us back to where we were.

But here’s what I want, more than anything: I want a love that isn’t filled with fear. A love that’s open and honest, where trust is a given and peace is possible. I want to find someone who feels as safe with me as I do with them, without hesitation, without worrying about what anyone else thinks.

I want you to know that I will always love you. Even from a distance, even if we never speak again. There’s no bitterness in my heart.

I forgive you.

I forgive us.

I think, maybe, that’s why it was easier for me to write this than to say it to you face to face. Because here, in this quiet space, I can speak the truth without causing us both more pain.

Goodbye. I love you. And this, this will be the last time I write about you.