Not, the Heart thing

I did the right thing,

the hard thing,

Not, the heart thing.

Because the heart thing,

would have stayed, bent, begged to be enough—

for someone still holding ghosts in both hands.

The heart thing said I can share you, just don't leave me.

The heart thing made a bed out of broken promises and faded dreams.

I did the right thing.

I chose silence over scraping my soul across indifference,

I chose peace over proving my worth in a room where I had turned grey.

It hurt. God, it hurt,

To walk away with love still burning like a second skin.

But love without being held,

is just a wound in disguise.

So, I did the right thing,

the grown thing,

the sacred thing,

I didn't choose what my heart wanted,

I chose what she needed,

And that,

is love.

I used to think strength only meant staying—enduring, fixing, proving.

Now I see strength can also mean painful exits, and unclenching fists.

Leaving doesn't mean you stop loving, sometimes that is when it starts.