I should’ve left the first time I felt unwanted.
But I didn’t. I stayed. Hoping that if I loved harder, stayed longer, prayed deeper, I’d be enough for him to choose me.

He never did.

I remember the first time I felt invisible.
It wasn’t that he said anything cruel — it was the silence. The sudden shift from calling every night to replying hours late. From “I miss you” to “I’ve been busy.”

Still, I stayed.

He was never violent, never loud. Just emotionally absent. One minute I’d feel close to him, the next I’d feel like a stranger in his life. I became an emotional beggar — constantly trying to earn affection, to “prove” I was worthy.

The worst part?
He never even asked me to stay. But I stayed anyway.

Why do we do that?
Why do we hold on to people who’ve already let go of us quietly?
Because when you don’t know your worth, you cling to people who reflect your deepest fears instead of your true value.

He didn’t break me in one big, dramatic way.
He broke me slowly — by withdrawing, by ignoring, by making me feel like I had to fight for scraps of love.
And I stayed.

Until one day, I woke up and I was just… tired.
Tired of crying after every conversation.
Tired of rereading messages hoping they meant something.
Tired of shrinking myself to be more “understanding,” more “patient,” more of the girl he might finally want.

That day, I didn’t scream.
I didn’t beg.
I didn’t even say goodbye.

I just let go — quietly, the same way he started drifting away.

It hurt, of course.
Healing isn’t soft. It’s raw and heavy. But slowly, I remembered who I was before I begged to be chosen. I started choosing myself — the girl who had dreams, who smiled with her whole face, who knew she was more than “almost loved.”

Now, when I look back, I’m not angry.
I’m grateful.
Not for how he treated me — but for what that heartbreak taught me:

You don’t have to fight to be loved.
You don’t have to chase someone to be seen.
The right love won’t confuse you or exhaust you.

I stayed too long, yes.
But I eventually walked away.
And that’s something the old me would be proud of.