I’m not grieving the end of “us” anymore.
I’m grieving the death — or maybe the nonexistence — of the woman I thought I loved.
The one who wanted a family.
Who dreamed of growing together, building something that could last.
Who believed in sustaining love, even when it was hard.
That woman is gone.
In her place stands someone bloated from the bottle, addicted to distraction, and allergic to the truth.
Someone who twists emotions to control, who calls it love while breaking every piece of it.
The woman I loved had ambition, faith, and a future in her eyes.
The woman here now is all noise and avoidance.
I didn’t leave her — she left herself.
And now I have to do the same.