There are days when life doesn’t ask for permission. It simply arrives, settles onto your chest, and waits — waits until you finally face what you always knew deep inside but weren’t ready to admit. Today was one of those days. It wasn’t about losing someone. Deep down, I know I never truly had her. It wasn’t about the silence between us, nor the distance that grew on its own, nor the way she always kept one foot outside the door, ready to leave.
The real pain lived elsewhere: in the realization that I had been fighting alone for something that never existed the way I imagined. It was understanding that I didn’t fall in love with reality — I fell in love with the possibility, the promise, the idea… the dream. And when life finally forced me to see the truth, it hurt — not because of her, but because of me. Because the thing I was desperately trying to save wasn’t the relationship. It was the part of myself that believed in it.
Killing a dream is a quiet kind of mourning. No one sees it, no one understands it, no one holds your hand while you try to let go of something that never truly happened. But sometimes it’s necessary. Holding onto something that was never real is its own slow way of dying — a little every day. And I don’t want to die like that anymore.
Today, as painful as it is, I let the dream go. Not out of exhaustion, but out of courage. The courage to keep walking even when it still hurts. The courage to accept the truth I tried to ignore. The courage to finally choose myself.
P.S.: And perhaps my story with little JGM was only meant to be a whisper in my journey, not a chapter.