“Are you Leaving?”

I made my way to you,
telling myself you felt it too—
a quiet lie I chose to believe.
You said you wanted me and that was always enough to keep me around.

You said you couldn’t give me what I needed,

couldn’t be what I deserved, couldn’t meet me where I was already standing.

And still—you said you wanted me.

God, that’s the part that ruins me.

Because wanting me has never been the problem.

You’ve always wanted me.

Just not enough to keep me.

And I stood there—

not breaking,

not begging,

just… seeing.

Seeing you for exactly who you are.

And for the first time, I didn’t try to change it.

I didn’t twist your words into something softer.

I didn’t pretend this could become something more.

I just felt it—the need to disappear right in front of you and never look back.

And even then…even knowing all of that…

I still let you touch me.

Not because I’m weak.

But because I needed to feel the ending.

To take back what I kept giving away.

To hold you one last time without lying to myself about what it meant.

You touched me like I was something to savor—and then, before I could even finish getting dressed, you asked if I was leaving.

Like I had already overstayed something that was never mine.

You tried to take it back when you saw my face— said you didn’t mean it like that.

But you did.

And I felt it before you even spoke.

So I said yes.

And when it was over, I didn’t fall apart.

I didn’t cry.

I just… knew.

Knew that this was it.

Knew that there was nothing left to figure out.

Knew that loving you was costing me too much.

You will miss me.

You will think of me.

You will reach for me again.

But you will not choose me.

And I deserve to be chosen.

So I walked away with your hands still on my skin and your absence already settling in my chest.

Not empty.

Not broken.

Just… rearranged by you.

And for the first time, that felt like enough.

JMS