“If You’re Reading This, I’m Finally Letting Go”

I never thought I’d write this.

Not because I didn’t have the words — I’ve had them, believe me. I’ve rehearsed this a hundred times in my head.

But I never wrote it down, because a small, stubborn part of me believed that one day, maybe, you’d come back.

And if you did, I wouldn’t have to.

But you do not.

You never looked back.

And maybe that silence was your answer all along.

There was a time I checked my phone every morning just to see if your name had appeared. Just a “hi,” a meme, a song you thought I’d like — anything that showed you remembered I existed.

But days turned into weeks, and weeks into months.

And all I got was silence.

What hurt the most wasn’t just that you left.

It was that I kept finding ways to excuse it.

“They’re overwhelmed.”

“They’re healing.”

“They just need space.”

I told myself these things because facing the truth — that maybe I was never that important to you — would’ve shattered me.

So instead, I held on to hope.

I held on to the ghost of you.

I remember the last time we spoke.

You were distant, but I didn’t press you.

I thought giving you space was the right thing to do — that you'd come back when you were ready.

If I had known that would be the last time, maybe I would’ve said something different.

Or maybe I would’ve just said goodbye.

But I didn’t.

Because I thought there’d be more time.

More chances.

More us.

I’ve replayed every memory since then.

Every laugh, every glance, every late-night conversation where it felt like the world narrowed down to just us.

I remember thinking, this feels safe.

I remember thinking, maybe this is what love feels like.

But now I wonder — did you feel any of it?

Was it real for you?

Or was I just filling space in a heart that never had room for me?

It’s exhausting, carrying the weight of someone who’s not even here.

And for a long time, I thought that weight was mine to bear.

I thought maybe if I had been better — prettier, cooler, more patient, less emotional — you would’ve stayed.

But healing begins when the self-blame ends.

And today, I’m setting that weight down.

Letting go doesn’t mean I don’t care anymore.

It doesn’t mean you never mattered.

You did. You still do.

It just means I’m done living in the past.

I’m done holding space for someone who never intended to fill it.

I’m done writing messages I’ll never send.

Done checking your social media to see if you’ve moved on.

Done imagining that one day I’ll wake up to an apology that never comes.

I’ve spent so long waiting for closure from you. But maybe closure isn’t something someone else gives you — maybe it's something you give yourself. Maybe it starts with accepting the apology you never got, and giving yourself the forgiveness you were waiting for.

You were a chapter in my life that changed me.

You taught me about trust, about vulnerability, and about the ache that comes from losing something that was never really mine.

You broke me — but unknowingly, you also forced me to rebuild.

And in that rebuilding, I’ve found pieces of myself I forgot existed.

The parts that love deeply. The parts that dream.

The parts that still believe in second chances — not with you, but with life.

With myself.

If you’re reading this, I hope life is kind to you.

I really do.

I hope you’re happy, wherever you are.

I hope you’re healing too, in your own way.

But most of all, I hope you understand — I’m not angry anymore.

I’m not waiting anymore.

I’m not holding on to something that only existed in my hope.

I’m finally letting go.

Not because I stopped caring,

but because I started caring about myself more.

So this is goodbye.

Not for you.

This time, it’s for me.

And for the first time in a long time…

I actually mean it.