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For the past ten years, I always had a next step.

Either a reason to stay,
or a reason to leave.

A truth to uncover,
or a wound to let go.

A place for chance,
or a way back home.

Even at every crossroads,
I always found a new direction.
Because somewhere, somehow,
I believed we’d meet again.

Maybe for closure.
Maybe for clarity.
Maybe because I just wanted it to be.

But now, knowing—
truly knowing—
that we were meant to end,
has left something in me unheld.

I keep reaching
for something I can’t name.
I keep searching,
but there’s no thread to follow back.

I find explanations, but they don’t fill my chest.
I find clarity, but it fogs over just the same.

Maybe what I’ve lost isn’t just him.

But the version of me
who always knew what to do
with the hope of him,
in a life that used to make sense.

Maybe what I’ve lost
are all the reasons
I stood still for so long.

Now, I just don’t know
how to stay,
how to move,
how to be okay,
or not be okay,
without a reason pointing me
somewhere he might be.

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