It wasn’t just one argument that night.

Not just one bad night.
Not just one big disagreement.

It was disappointment
growing slowly in the silence
where we should’ve spoken.

It was misunderstanding left unchecked,
until it hardened into distance.

It was forgiveness given,
but never fully felt.

It was the same wound being touched
in the same place, too many times.

What broke us wasn’t sudden.

It was the familiar way we kept circling back
to the same pain with different words.

It was one fight that led to another
and another.

And each explanation started to feel
like both a reason and a goodbye.

I was stuck in my frustration.
So was he.

I kept searching for something to fix,
something to understand, to offer,
while quietly wishing he would see me
the way I needed to be seen.

Because I knew him too deeply
to ever unknow him.

He had been too much of me,
too much in me,
for me to stand on my own
without trembling.

So much of my world
had learned to orbit his.

For so long, he was the gravity
that kept me from floating away.

On the days I try to let him go,
my body still remembers
what it was like to belong.

And on other days,
I don’t know how to release.
Not because I want to stay in the past,
but I never imagined,
this version of the future could exist.

And though everything inside feels tangled,
maybe I’m okay.

Or maybe I’m not.

Or maybe I’m okay with not being okay.

I’m just trying to stop asking my heart to make sense.
Trying to stop asking my mind to tidy the mess.