I opened myself up again.
Despite the trauma.
Despite the last time nearly breaking me.
Despite every instinct telling me to shut it all down and go numb.
I stayed. I felt it. I fought.

But I think I’ve just been swinging at shadows.

She was already gone.
Emotionally, at least.
Long before I knew there was even a battle to fight.
She just didn’t tell me.

And I get it — that’s hard to admit.
Hard to say out loud to someone you once loved with everything.
But being left out of that truth?
That part really fucking hurts.

I was allowed to believe there was hope.
Allowed to think this was a pause — a reset — a “let’s see.”
Instead, I’m now holding onto a “maybe in a year” like it’s some kind of lifeline, when really… it’s not.
It’s a soft no dressed up as patience.

And that? That’s not fair.

It’s not fair to let someone who’s finally trying, keep pouring everything into something you already buried months ago.

It’s not fair to hold me in limbo, waiting… wondering… doubting myself daily…
when you’ve already emotionally disconnected and just haven’t said it in so many words.

If this is really over, then let it be over.
Don’t let me waste a year of my life hoping you might feel something again.

Because right now?
I’m standing here, finally ready to fight — and I’m realising there’s no one left in the ring with me.

I’m not saying I was perfect. Far from it.
I shut down when I should’ve leaned in.
I ran when I should’ve stayed.
But I’m here now, open and willing to face all of that… to fix myself, and maybe us too.

All I ask is this:
If you won’t give me now — not a year from now, but now — to show you I can be better,
then please don’t ask me to wait on some vague chance that maybe, someday, you’ll feel differently.

Because I can’t hold onto false hope anymore.
It’ll kill me slowly.

I need to let go.
Even if it breaks me.
Even if it feels like giving up.
Because what I’m really giving up on… is waiting for someone who already walked away.

And that’s not weakness.
That’s survival.

In Summary:
So I lied to myself. I told myself this breakup was for the best. That space was what we both needed. That maybe this was just a reset. But coming back to the family home cracked that lie wide open. I realised I’d been pretending — to myself and to everyone else — that I didn’t care as much as I do. The truth is, I do care. I came back ready to own my mistakes, to open up, to try. I put my heart on my sleeve… and just when I thought there was a chance to rebuild, she told me it was already over. That it hadn’t been working for her for a long time. That she wants out — not space, not healing. And suddenly I was no longer the guy who ran… I was the guy left standing, blindsided, with the rug ripped out from under me. So my doubts were correct, I should have trusted my instincts. Instead once again, I opened myself for pain for someone who can’t love me back.