Pen and Page Journey

Dear You,

You were the one who reached out.

Who sent the good mornings, the are-you-okays, the I’m-just-checking-ins.

The one who planned the visits. Picked the dates. Called even when you didn’t want to talk—because love, to you, has always meant showing up.

And you did.

Over and over again.

Even when it was quiet on the other side.

Even when it hurt.

Two years is a long time to try.

And when you look at the numbers—two years of initiating every call but five, every text but one, every encounter but two—your heart sinks.

Because what do you even call that?

Was it love?

Was it hope?

Or was it you trying to prove that you were worth choosing?

No one should have to beg to be wanted.

No one should have to carry the weight of two people’s connection, while the other just… lets them.

And still, you tried.

Not because you’re desperate. But because you’re loyal. Because you remember birthdays and small details. Because you care even when it’s inconvenient. Because deep down, you believed they’d meet you halfway.

But they didn’t.

Not consistently. Not clearly. Not like you deserved.

So now you’re sitting with this ache.

Because you didn’t want to be the one who left.

You wanted to be loved back. Just once. Just fully.

And yet—walking away now doesn’t mean you didn’t care.

It means you finally believed yourself.

You finally stopped saying “it’s okay” when it never really was.

You stopped showing up to a one-person relationship.

And that’s not giving up.

That’s finally answering the question:

What happens if I stop texting first?

So grieve it.

Not just the relationship.

But the version of you that kept trying long after your heart ran out of hands to reach with.

You did your part.

You gave your love.

And now, you get to give it to someone who doesn’t need reminders to meet you there.

With care,

The Soft Goodbye