I’ve been sitting with my thoughts for a long time, trying to understand what this connection has meant to me and why it feels so heavy to imagine letting it go without saying this honestly. I know we’re both tired in different ways, and I know things haven’t felt simple for a while now. But I want you to know that everything I’ve said and done has come from a place of genuine care — not obligation, not fear of being alone, and not an attempt to keep you somewhere you don’t want to be. You mattered to me in a way that made me slow down, pay attention, and want to show up thoughtfully, even when I didn’t always know how to do that perfectly. I don’t regret loving you the way I did, because it was real, and it came from sincerity. What hurts the most isn’t distance itself, but the feeling that what we built is being quietly dismissed as something small or replaceable, when to me it was neither. I never saw you as an option or a phase — I saw you as a person I chose, even during moments that were confusing or heavy. I know people change, and I know life gets overwhelming, but I still believe there’s something meaningful in pausing and asking whether what’s being let go of is truly finished, or just exhausted and unheard. Sometimes things don’t fall apart because they’re broken, but because both people stopped feeling understood at the same time. I’ve tried to be careful not to cross your boundaries or make you feel pressured, but I also don’t want to pretend that caring deeply is something to be embarrassed about. When I worried, when I checked in, when I asked how your day was — that wasn’t me trying to control you or hold you back. That was me loving in the only honest way I knew how at the time. I know I overthink. I know I feel deeply. I know that can be a lot. But those same parts of me are also the reason I cared consistently, stayed patient, and never stopped wishing good things for you, even on days where I felt unsure about where I stood. At some point, I realized that our needs started pulling in different directions. I found myself needing more clarity, more reassurance, more presence, while you needed more space and freedom to move through life without having to explain yourself. Neither of those needs is wrong. But together, they created a gap that kept growing. I don’t want to be someone who lives in anxiety or constant questioning, and I don’t want you to feel weighed down by expectations you never asked for. I believe relationships should feel safe, not confusing — supportive, not draining. And I think we both deserve that kind of peace. Still, I can’t ignore the part of me that feels this didn’t have to end in distance or silence. I’m not asking for promises, guarantees, or certainty. I’m asking whether there’s still enough here to choose each other intentionally — to communicate instead of withdraw, to be honest instead of distant, and to grow instead of slowly drifting apart. I don’t want us to continue out of habit, but I also don’t want us to walk away from something meaningful without fully acknowledging what it could still become if both people leaned in instead of stepping back. I know you’re strong, capable, and independent, and I never wanted to take that away from you. I admired it — I still do. But strength doesn’t mean you have to do everything alone, and independence doesn’t mean connection is a weakness. Sometimes choosing to stay and work through discomfort is just as brave as choosing to walk away. Love isn’t always effortless, but I believe it’s supposed to feel worth choosing — and to me, you still are. I also want to acknowledge that sometimes it’s easier to leave than to sit with uncertainty, especially when life already feels heavy. Distance can feel like relief in the moment. But I wonder if part of what we’re feeling isn’t the absence of love, but the exhaustion of not fully understanding each other anymore. Confusion doesn’t always mean incompatibility — sometimes it means two people stopped feeling safe enough to slow down and really listen without assuming the worst. I wish we could give ourselves that chance, even briefly, before deciding this chapter is truly over. You changed me in ways I’ll always carry. You taught me what it means to care gently, to love thoughtfully, and to see someone fully — flaws and all — without trying to fix them. I don’t need perfection from you, and I never did. What I valued was authenticity: the moments we were real, present, and choosing each other not because it was easy, but because it felt meaningful. Those moments are why this still feels worth honoring, even now. If I’m being completely honest, some of my favorite memories with you are the ones that weren’t perfect or planned. Like the aquarium — just us walking around, taking our time, pointing things out, existing together without needing many words. Or the pumpkin patch, even though it was really late in the day and we probably should’ve gone home earlier. I still love that we both went anyway, like we didn’t want to miss the chance to experience it together. You getting in trouble for getting home late still makes me smile a little — not because of the trouble, but because it felt so us at the time. Two people choosing the moment, choosing each other, even when it wasn’t convenient. And prom will always live in my heart — especially that last one. You in that beautiful pink dress, looking unreal, like something straight out of a movie. On the way back, you were so tired you fell asleep, peaceful and quiet, like an angel, and I remember looking over at you and feeling this calm, overwhelming happiness I didn’t even know how to explain. That moment — just you sleeping, the car quiet, the night ending — is one of my favorite memories of us. I love that we were high school sweethearts once, that we shared something innocent and real, something full of heart that not everyone gets to experience. No matter how life moves forward from here, I know I’ll always cherish what we shared together. There are memories that feel permanently etched into my heart — the kind that don’t fade, no matter how much time passes. Prom especially felt soft and unreal in the best way, like something straight out of a movie. That sweet sense of love — like it was in the air — where everything feels warmer, brighter, and you can almost feel it tingle around you. Those moments remind me that what we had wasn’t imagined. It was lived. And I need you to know this, even if it’s the last thing I ever say about us: a part of my heart will always love you. Not in a way that asks for anything, but in a way that honors what you meant to me. Love like that doesn’t just disappear — it softens, it changes shape, but it stays. You’ll always be someone I loved deeply, someone who felt like my true love in this chapter of my life, and that will always matter to me. Forever and always, I’ll wish you happiness, peace, and a life filled with moments that feel as sweet and meaningful as the ones we shared. And I’ll always be grateful that, for a time, our paths crossed and we chose each other.