It kills me to write this

Start quietly.

Be so silent that the crickets she hears… hear crickets.

Leave so gently she won't be able to comprehend how her house could blow over from a such a mild breeze.

You don't need to explain your heart to her anymore.

You already did that and picked yourself up one too many times.

Become a lovelorn assassin.

Stop treating her breadcrumbs like they're a meal prepared by a Michelin chef.

She left you starving, not satiated.

Stop answering the texts that only come when you're sleeping: "thinking about you."

She isn't.

She's prodding at your interest.

Don't unpack the bags you had ready to move to her.

Take down the vision board from your bedroom wall.

Forget all the places you wanted to take her.

Just go. Anywhere. End stagnation.

The call you've been waiting for never came.

So vanish from the inside out.

Start with the way she said your name like you mattered.

Delete all the pictures where she looked at you like you were her rock.

Forget the pauses she filled with I don't know and I'm just not ready while you stood there, chest wide open, asking nothing but see me.

She saw you.

She just didn't choose you.

When she reaches out asking if you've moved on, just remember she only likes knowing you're always there, that she still has you where she wants you.

Remember your silence sparks curiosity, not regret.

Leave with her an echo.

If she wants to hear your voice, she can replay her voicemail.

Let her miss you, not the way you smiled when you'd see her, but who the world shaped you to be.

She never came for your fires. Only your light.

Let her miss you in areas she never bothered to learn.

In the books you lent her that she never opened.

In the songs you shared that she only listened to halfway.

Don't picture what her kitchen looks like or if she's cooking for anyone else.

Forget that her skin was softer than vicuña wool.

Bury the memory that her hair smelled like Christmas morning.

Believe that there is a silver lining other than on her neck.

Delete the heart you assigned next to her name on your phone.

In fact, delete her name altogether.

Replace it with "Choose Yourself".

A reminder that she didn't.

When she texts you, leave it unanswered.

Let her learn that silence isn’t reciprocation.

Keep a bottle of whiskey on your bathroom counter.

Not because you want it, but because it's an option.

On the mirror next to it, write these affirmations in Sharpie: “I am enough.” “I am worthy.” “I am okay.”

Repeat them like lines in detention, like maybe if you say them enough, they'll become true.

As if self-love were some kind of discipline.

Every morning, stare at both.

Two choices: numb yourself, or self-preservation.

Missing her felt like a punishment, but loving her shouldn’t feel like one too.

And when she calls…

Let it ring.