I didn’t cry when it ended. I didn’t spiral. I didn’t beg. I didn’t even have the space to grieve.
Because this time, I was already carrying too much. My father had moved in. My emotional bandwidth was shredded. I was cracking under the weight of family dynamics I hadn’t consented to hold. And I knew—deep down, I knew—that if I tried to bring it to him, he would drop me.
And that’s exactly what happened.
But before that— We loved each other. Softly. Silently. Sometimes awkwardly. Sometimes with laughter. Sometimes with skin. We loved each other in the quiet way people do when they’re afraid of needing too much but still crave the safety of being known.
He saw me. Said my brain worked so hard. I saw him. Understood the quiet behind his charm. The boy inside the man. And for a moment in time, we created something that felt tender and possible.
I tried to hold it in. I tried to stay light. I tried not to “complain” or “bother.” But it started to leak through—my silence, my shorter messages, the way I asked, “Are we ok?” even though I already knew we weren’t.
Eventually, I told him. Not all of it—just enough. That I was feeling disconnected. That I needed more communication. More mutual support. That something was off.
His response?
“You’re really tiring. Just complaining.” “You’ve been so needy again for days now. What do you expect?”
That was the last real conversation we had.
He told me I was needy. But I wasn’t needy. I was honest. I was tired. I was asking for a relationship—not attention. Not convenience. Not passivity wrapped in affection.
He said it didn’t make sense anymore. And maybe he was right. Because something that falls apart the moment you ask for clarity was never built to last.
I didn’t go back. Even when he returned months later with softness and flirtation and old language. Even when I missed him.
Because love isn’t just what you say when things are sweet. It’s what you do when the person you care about is drowning. And when I needed someone to stay, he gave me silence and a new number.
He called me needy. But what I really was—was clear.
And I’ve decided I will never again apologise for needing what I know I deserve. Even if once, we really did love each other. Even if part of me still does.