A Letter to Him โ Pt. 2 (The Things I Wish I Could Say as I Let You Go)
Hereโs hoping this is the last time I ever speak to you like thisโ not because Iโve run out of words, but because my chest is tired of carrying something that was never fully held.
I loved you in a way I have never loved anyone before.
Not loud, not reckless, not something I could just shake off and ignoreโ
The kind of deep that settles under your skin, wraps around your ribs, sits heavy in your chest like it belongs there.
And if Iโm honestโฆ it scared me.
Not because you were unsafeโ you never were.
But because you felt like something I had been searching for long before I ever found you.
And I thinkโฆ maybe you saw it differently.
Maybe to you, I was just the girl who falls too fast, too deep, too soon.
The girl who feels everything all at once, who gives too much, who doesnโt know when to slow down.
I donโt fall like that often. I donโt open like that easily. I donโt love like that lightly.
I guard myself. I pace myself. I hold back more than anyone realises.
You were the only one, so far, who made me feel like I didnโt have to.
And thatโs what made it different.
Thatโs what made it real.
I didnโt need you to be perfect. God, I didnโt want perfect.
I would have loved you through the cracks, through the quiet, through the days where your mind felt too loud to live inside.
I would have stayed in the storm with youโ held you, steadied you, stood beside youโ not fixing, not forcing, justโฆ there.
You didnโt tell me what you needed. You didnโt reach for me when it got hard. You didnโt open the doorโ
you just disappeared into silence and left me standing there like the last message you never answered.
God, that silence felt physical.
Like a weight on my chest. Like a tightness in my throat. Like something sitting heavy in my stomach that wouldnโt let me breathe properly.
I kept trying to make sense of itโ replaying your voice in my head, the rhythm of it, the calm of itโ
Those blue-grey skies of your eyesโฆ the kind that never quite gave everything away, but held something soft behind them all the same.
Do you remember how I used to look at you? How Iโd tell you they were beautiful and youโd get all awkward, like you didnโt quite believe me?
Trying to understand how something that felt so full could leave me feeling so empty.
Because we were something, werenโt we?
We were quiet roads and long drives, the kind where time slipped without asking, where everything felt easy without trying.
I used to sit there beside you and think how strange it wasโ
that something so simple could feel so right.
I thinkโฆ at one point, I even started noticing the things you loved.
The little details I never cared for beforeโ the sound of an engine, the way it changed when it was pushed just right.
I was only just starting to learn how good a V8 could soundโ just so I could tell you, just to see that look on your face when I got it right.
We felt like something that shouldโve worked.
Like an engine with all the right partsโ built strong, built right, built to go the distanceโ
but never quite understood, never quite tended to, never given what it needed to keep running.
And no matter how much I wanted to, I couldnโt keep something alive that was slowly being left to fall apart.
And somewhere in all of thatโฆ
I realised I was already building something.
We were the kind of ordinary that didnโt feel ordinary at allโ
we were warmth, we were comfort, we were almost everything.
Not quite foreverโ but close enough to feel like it couldโve been.
Pancake Sundays. Rain tapping softly against the windows. A film playing while the world outside didnโt matter.
I saw something simple. Something steady. Something safe.
And maybe thatโs why it hurts the way it doesโ
because I didnโt just lose you.
I lost the feeling of what we couldโve been.
The house we started building without even realising. The rooms we never got to fill. The life that never quite became real.
Because I had the blueprint, and you had the pieces, but somewhere along the wayโ
you stopped showing up to build it with me.
And I canโt keep calling something a home when Iโm the only one holding it together.
You changed something in me.
You softened parts of me that had been closed for years. You reminded me that I amโ
deeply romantic, quietly hopeful, and capable of loving in a way that is real.
Not quick. Not careless. But rare.
I donโt just want a relationship.
I want a life. A partner. A home.
Something that stays, something that grows, something that chooses me back when it knows.
So Iโm letting you goโฆ
Not loudly. Not angrily. Not with resentment or regretโ
but softly, slowly, with a quiet ache that sits beneath it all.
Maybe in another life, we got it right.
Maybe somewhere, you didnโt go quiet when things got hard.
Maybe somewhereโฆ you stayed.
I have to choose the version of me who doesnโt wait on unanswered messages, who doesnโt shrink in silence, who doesnโt build alone.
You will always have a place in my heartโ not as something Iโm waiting for, but as something that taught me exactly what I need.
You gave me the blueprint..
I just lost my building crew along the way.
Iโm choosing not to rebuild it with someone who wonโt stay.
Goodbyeโฆ for the last time,
from the girl who laughed a little too loud, loved a little too deeply, and who fell for you somewhere between the quiet roads and your passenger seat.
