Funny how I never really imagined the ending wouldn’t be me.

The first time we broke up,
I remember saying—
I would never be able to let him go
if the person next to him wasn’t me.

It sounds like something you’d say
in the middle of a quiet obsession.
I know that now.
But at the time,
being with him felt like home.
And losing him, felt like losing
the only place I could return to.

I didn’t see then.
Some part of that “home”
was built from how he showed up
when I was far from my family,
and far from my own self.

Even when we ended,
I still knew I’d meet him again someday.
Though now I wonder.
Was that knowing, a memory, a wish,
or just a prayer in disguise?

And when I did meet him again,
and then lose him again,
I found myself asking:

Was loving him
something I knew,
something I wanted,
or something I was still praying for?

Was I in love with him,
or just with the idea
of being with him?

Isn’t wanting to be with someone
a form of love, too?

Why, then,
could I never picture a life without him,
even if it terrified me while being with him?

I kept asking myself,
if my need to love him
was still a way to prove to myself,
that I am good enough.

A voice that sabotaged all of me—
my worth depends on how well I love him.

And for a while,
that shook me.

My body responded like it had heard
the truth I never wanted to be true.

Especially when I started to realize
how often I was consumed by my own feelings,
forgetting that his were just as real.

Was I the villain after all?

I wanted to reach out.
To tell him I'm still
and I’d always be here.

And again and again I kept wondering.

How did I love him?
How would he know I still did?
What happens to love like this after it ends?

But slowly,
through every letter I wrote,
every feeling I finally faced, 
I started to see something else.

That maybe we were too similar.
That maybe I needed to face myself first
before I could love him without hurting him.

That somehow, at some point,
I’ll simply be glad he’s found his joy,
even if I’m not part of it.

I think,
if I could go back,
I’ll keep choosing him over and over again,
even knowing we wouldn’t work in the end.

Because I think,
I’d still miss him even if we’d never met.