I didn’t lose you, I found myself.

I watched you build walls
while I was trying to build bridges,
laying my hands raw on every plank of patience,
hoping you’d meet me halfway.

I watched you disappear for days,
leaving me stranded in the silence between your replies,
a space loud enough to echo my fears.
Wondering if you were gone for good
or just testing how much weight my heart could hold
before it finally cracked.

And it hurt. It hurt because I stayed.
Because I kept choosing understanding
when I should’ve chosen myself.
Because I kept translating your absence into excuses
instead of reading it for what it was,
distance disguised as mystery.

I kept watering a connection
you kept starving.
I kept knocking on doors
you were quietly locking from the inside.

And somewhere between the waiting and the hoping,
I realized love shouldn’t feel like a trial run for abandonment.
It shouldn’t make you rehearse goodbyes
while still holding someone’s hand.

So this is me lowering the bridge.
Not because I stopped caring,
but because I finally learned
that love doesn’t ask you to bleed in silence
to prove you’re strong enough to stay.

I didn’t lose you.
I found myself
standing on the side of the river
where I am no longer begging
to be met.