The deepest wound is not the leaving.
It is loving someone who once felt like shelter from the world, someone whose presence quieted the noise and softened you. It is standing beside them, steady and loyal, believing you are building something mutual. It is choosing them in rooms they are not in. It is defending their name. It is having their back without hesitation.
And then, one ordinary moment, the ground shifts.
You learn that the safety was an illusion you carried alone. That the loyalty you gave was not mirrored. That the love you felt so certain of was something they never truly held. The arms you thought would catch you were never extended. The back you protected was never protecting yours.
That is the wound.
Not the absence, but the revelation.
Not the goodbye, but the understanding that you were standing guard for someone who would not stand for you.
And still, somewhere between the ache and the acceptance, forgiveness begins to bloom — not because they earned it, but because your heart deserves peace. You learn to release them without releasing yourself. You begin to feel proud of the way you loved: fully, fiercely, without calculation. Even if it was not returned, it was real. It was generous. It was brave. And nothing about loving deeply is something to be ashamed of.
And somehow, the heart learns how to trust itself again — how to believe that safety can be real, and that one day, love will not feel like a story told by only one voice.
I pray for you now. I pray for your healing, I pray for your heart and your peace. I ask God to restore what was broken in you. To mend the places that could not receive what I gave. Because even with the pain, I never stopped loving you. Love does not turn to poison in me, it turns to prayer.
So I hold the memories tenderly - not as anchors that keep me bound, but as pages from a chapter that shaped me. I trust one day, that the love I give so freely will one day find hands who can hold it.
