I Don’t Romanticize You Anymore

I don’t flinch when a car looks like yours. I don’t wonder if that flicker in the corner of my vision is some kind of sign. I don’t look for you in the wind, or the patterns, or the silence. Not like I used to.

There was a time when everything felt like a message from you. A code I thought I was meant to crack. I used to turn over every little thing, looking for you inside it. But now? Now it just passes. Like weather.

I don’t think about where you are. I don’t picture your hands, your voice, your eyes. I don’t replay things like I used to. And maybe that’s healing. Maybe it’s just what comes after being exhausted by hope.

I don’t feed it anymore. Not the ache. Not the memories. Not the what-ifs. I let them starve in the quiet.

And I don’t know if that means I’m truly letting go; or if I’m just suppressing it all so I don’t have to feel you anymore. But whatever it is, I know I’m not yours in the way I once was. And you’re not mine.

Because getting over you hurt. It burned through my chest on quiet nights and sat like a weight in my stomach when the sun came up. I grieved a life we never even started. A version of us I believed in more than I should have.

You told me you wanted a better life. That you weren’t happy. That things could be different. But when it came time to choose? You chose the same broken routine. You chose comfort in chaos. You chose silence instead of change.

And I get it. I understand why you picked the life you did. I understand staying stuck is easier than growing. But don’t pretend you didn’t have a choice. Don’t act like we couldn’t have had more.

We could have had peace. We could have had freedom. We could have had each other.

But you chose what was familiar. Even if it was killing you slowly.

And that? That’s no longer my burden to carry.

You can stay there; happy or not, fulfilled or not. You can wake up beside a life you settled for and convince yourself it’s enough. But I won’t be waiting in the background of your indecision.

I no longer try to control it. I no longer hold my breath for signs. I’m letting it all be what it is.

And while you remain where you are, I’m living. I’m doing what I want. I’m feeling everything and nothing all at once. I’m not surviving you anymore. I’m finally surviving me.

I don’t romanticize you anymore. I don’t dress our ending in softer colors. I don’t look at the past like it owes me something.

I’m still learning, still processing. But for the first time, I can say this:

If we were meant to be, we would be. And if we’re not? I’m not just starting to be okay with that.

I am okay with it.