I don’t hate you.
I’m way past that.
Hate needs energy,
and I’ve spent everything already,
on us, on trying, on pretending
we were still something worth saving.
I’m not in love with you anymore.
That feeling slipped out the back door
while we were busy arguing
about the same damn things
for the millionth time.
Yeah, I loved you,
loved you harder than ever before,
but love doesn’t mean anything
when the foundation’s cracked
and the whole house is tilting
and we’re just standing in the doorway
waiting for it to collapse.
So keep your distance.
I mean it this time.
Don’t circle back,
don’t text me at 2 AM
with nostalgia dressed as honesty.
I don’t want to see you again,
not in person,
not in passing,
not in the reflections of people
who almost look like you.
But hey, listen,
I don’t wish you pain.
I don’t need revenge.
I don’t want you haunted.
I hope you find whatever peace
you couldn’t find with me.
I hope your next chapter
doesn’t feel like a battlefield.
Just go,
and let me go,
and let that be the kindest thing
we ever do for each other.
