What I’ll Never Get to Say

There are things I’ll never get to say —

not out loud,There

not to your face.

So, I’m saying them here.

I never exaggerated a single thing I told you. Every story, every confession, every pain I shared — it all happened exactly as I said it did. Some of it happened this year, some last year, and some much earlier. But all of it was real.

I have a deep fear of being called a liar — it’s a trauma that never quite leaves you. So when I spoke to you, I spoke from the truest place I could find inside myself.

And yet, even with all that honesty, there are so many words I wish I could take back.

You Reached Me When No One Else Could

I still don’t know if you ever loved me. Maybe I never gave you enough time to figure it out.

But you reached me in a way no one else ever has.

You and he — you’re not the same person, though both are part of my story. You were a mirror to the version of me that was still trying to heal.

When you came back into my life, ten years later, it was like finding a piece of myself I thought was gone forever.

You were my reminder that I still wanted to live.

You gave me my “Nico Robin moment” — that moment of realizing, I don’t want to disappear anymore.

You may never know how much that means, but I owe you my gratitude for that alone.

Walking Away Hurts More Than I Can Say

I don’t think you’ll ever understand how hard it is for me to walk away.

Even now, as I write this, my hands shake.

You’re probably fine — maybe even relieved. I don’t blame you.

Good exes and good friends probably come easily to good men like you.

But me? I’m taking this harder than I expected.

Because you’re the only man who never lied to me, never intentionally hurt me, never made me feel small.

You were the safe place I didn’t think existed.

And that’s what makes this goodbye so hard.

If I Stay, I’ll Never Heal

You know it, and I know it — if I stay, I’ll never move forward.

You were my safety net, and I memorized your number like it was my own heartbeat.

But even a safety net can start to feel like a cage when healing demands distance.

He knows that, too. He knows that if I walk away for good, it’s because staying has become too heavy.

Sometimes love — even the quiet kind — has to end so both people can start again.

The Hardest Work Comes After Goodbye

I’m trying to do the work — even when it feels impossible.

Therapy sessions where my trauma index still reads 47 out of 80.

Jaw pain from clenching through the memories I still can’t say out loud.

Leaving jobs that trigger flashbacks because someone’s tone reminds me of an old wound.

Healing isn’t poetic. It’s raw and exhausting.

It’s rebuilding yourself when your hands still shake from the last time you fell apart.

But I’m doing it.

And you — you helped me believe I could.

The Goodbye I Never Wanted to Write

So, how do you say goodbye to someone who changed your life without even trying?

Do I say thank you?

Do I say I’m sorry?

Or do I just whisper I wish things were different into the silence between us?

Maybe all I can really say is this:

Thank you for reminding me that there are still good people in the world.

I’m sorry for the timing, the distance, the things I said when I was scared.

And I wish — more than anything — that this wasn’t the end.

But it has to be.

So, this is me letting go.

This is me saying goodbye — not out loud, but still from the heart.

❤️ If you’ve ever had to say goodbye to someone you still care about, know this:

You’re not weak for missing them.

You’re not broken for loving them.

You’re just human — learning that sometimes closure doesn’t come from conversation. It comes from courage.