Hey… I never thought I’d be writing something like this, especially not to you. It’s been sitting with me for a while, this mix of confusion, sadness, and unfinished thoughts. I didn’t expect to feel the way I do right now—so full of questions and completely empty at the same time. I guess I kept thinking maybe things would settle or make more sense with time, but that hasn’t happened. So I’m writing instead.
The way things ended between us… it just doesn’t sit right with me. It was so sudden, so final, like the end of a book with the last pages ripped out. One moment we were talking, or at least I thought we still had some kind of understanding, and the next, it was as if I’d been erased. I didn’t see it coming, and I still don’t fully understand what happened.
Being blocked out of someone’s life without explanation is a unique kind of pain. It’s more than rejection—it’s a decision that says, “You don’t even deserve words.” That silence becomes louder than anything, louder than any fight or goodbye. It echoes with the sound of every moment that now feels like it didn’t matter.
And maybe that’s what hurts the most. Not the blocking itself, but what it implied. That what we had—whether real or something I misread—wasn’t worth a final word. That it was so easy for you to let go of, while I’m still sitting here turning everything over in my mind, trying to understand how it all unraveled so quickly and quietly.
I’m not angry. I want you to know that. I’m not here to point fingers or blame you. I know life is complicated, and people are allowed to walk away when something doesn’t feel right to them. But I wish you had just said something first. A sentence. A message. Anything to give me a sense of where your heart was before you made the choice to vanish from mine.
I keep wondering what I did wrong. That’s the part I can’t stop spinning around in my head. Was there something I said? Something I didn’t notice? Did I make you feel unseen or unheard without realizing it? You didn’t owe me forever, but I thought I at least meant enough to you for a conversation. It’s hard not to take silence as a reflection of worth.
Maybe you had your reasons. Maybe you were hurting too. I try to remind myself of that—that people don’t always have the capacity to explain what they’re going through. Maybe pushing me away was about protecting your own peace. If that’s the case, I want you to know I get it. I really do. But understanding your side doesn’t erase what I feel on mine.
What’s left in the silence is so many unanswered questions. I think that’s what’s been haunting me the most. I can’t grieve something properly when I don’t know what it was in the first place. Was it mutual? Was it just me? Did I make it all up in my head? I wish I didn’t have to wonder, but now all I can do is wonder.
And I hate that part—being stuck in that guessing place. Not knowing if you walked away because you didn’t care anymore or because you cared too much and didn’t know how to say so. Not knowing if you think of me at all. Not knowing if it even mattered to you the way it mattered to me.
This isn’t about wanting you back. It’s not about holding on to something that’s already gone. I’m not reaching out to get your attention or to guilt you into a response. This isn’t some last-ditch attempt to be remembered. It’s simply me being honest—because I still believe in saying the things that feel heavy on your heart.
Because whether or not it was love, whether or not it was something you ever took seriously, my feelings were real. I didn’t fake what I shared with you. I wasn’t pretending. Every word, every little gesture, every time I opened up—I meant it. That’s why this silence feels like such a loud ending. Because I brought something real to the table, and it feels like it was discarded without acknowledgment.
I trusted you with parts of myself that I don’t give away easily. I was vulnerable with you, in ways that scared me sometimes, in ways I normally hide from the world. And I thought—maybe foolishly—that you saw that, and respected it. That it meant something. But now I sit with the absence, wondering if you even noticed.
I keep telling myself to let it go. To move on. To accept that sometimes we don’t get the closure we need, and that sometimes people leave without looking back. But it’s not that easy. Letting go without understanding feels like tearing something out of yourself that you don’t fully know how to name.
I’ve tried to hate you for the way you left. I really have. I’ve tried to find a version of this story where I can be mad, where I can be indifferent, where I can laugh it off and pretend you didn’t matter as much as you did. But every time I try, I just end up back here—sad, not angry. Confused, not bitter.
There’s a part of me that still hopes you’re okay. That you found peace, or clarity, or whatever it was you were searching for. I hope you’re surrounded by people who understand you and who make you feel seen in the ways I maybe couldn’t. And I genuinely mean that. Caring for someone doesn’t just disappear overnight.
But I also hope, in some quiet moment, you remember me. I hope you remember that I cared—not in a fleeting way, not in a surface-level way, but deeply and genuinely. I hope you realize that your actions, while maybe necessary for you, left behind scars in someone who showed up for you with an open heart.
I hope, too, that you don’t do this to someone else one day. That if you ever feel the need to leave again, you’ll offer them the words you never gave me. A message. A goodbye. Something to soften the exit. Because silence can be crueler than honesty, and closure is a kindness people rarely forget.
Even now, I’m not writing this because I expect a response. I’m not looking for resolution from you anymore. I’ve realized that maybe the only closure I’ll get is the one I create for myself, in letters like this, in moments of quiet acceptance, in finally choosing to stop holding my breath.
So this is me, letting go—not because I want to, but because I have to. Because whatever we had, whatever it was or wasn’t, it mattered to me. And because people deserve to speak their truth, even when it’s met with silence.
And if you ever do read this, I hope you know it came from a place of love. A place of pain, yes—but also of hope, and respect, and the kind of tenderness that only comes when someone truly meant something. Goodbye doesn’t have to be spoken to be felt. And I’ve felt it every day since you left.
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