Either way

I didn’t mean to stay.

But some hearts, once found,

are impossible to put down.

Yours felt like a story I already knew,

and still, I read you again.

Even as the ending folds like a blade.

I could’ve walked a thousand different paths,

burned maps, rewritten stars,

chosen silence over spark,

emptied my lungs before your name could form.

And still, I would’ve ended up here.

With you.

Because some collisions are carved in bone.

Some stories write themselves in your blood,

long before you know you’re living them.

You weren’t a choice.

You were gravity.

An ache I mistook for home.

A memory that met me,

before we ever did.

Even if I had run faster,

loved quieter,

closed every door before your knock,

I would’ve heard you in the wind.

Felt you in the stillness.

Known you without knowing why.

And maybe that’s the hardest part.

That this was always going to happen.

Not just the love.

The leaving, too.

So if I have to walk away,

I’ll do it with a heart that stayed,

because I would have loved you either way.

If this is goodbye,

don’t expect it to be clean.

There will be echoes.

And aching.

And moments where I almost turn back.

I will trace your name in silence,

see your face in strangers,

catch your laugh in a song I forgot I loved.

If this is goodbye,

let me leave without pretending I wanted to.

Let me go with salt in my mouth,

and every version of you still burning in my chest.

There will be no neat ending here.

Just the soft closing of a door I’ll always remember.

Just me, walking forward,

with half of myself still reaching behind.

But I’ll go.

Even if my hands shake.

Even if love begs me to stay.

Because sometimes,

we choose peace,

over the fire that once kept us warm.

If this is goodbye,

know I never walked away empty.

I carry the whole of you,

not as weight,

but as proof,

that I was once brave enough to love.

And maybe one day,

someone will ask who taught me tenderness,

and I’ll think of your eyes.

Your laugh.

The way you held my hand,

like it was always meant to be there.

One day,

when someone asks who taught me stillness,

I’ll think of your touch,

quiet as a whisper,

familiar as breath,

and sometimes, urgent as time.

One day,

when someone asks who taught me vulnerability,

I’ll remember how you saw,

the trembling parts of me,

and didn’t flinch.

One day,

when someone asks who taught me longing,

I’ll think of your kiss,

not rushed,

but careful,

like you knew you were marking something

I’d never forget.

You changed me.

Not in loud, obvious ways,

but in the quiet places

where no one was watching.

You made me softer.

You made me louder.

You made me feel,

and not just in passing.

But like it mattered.

Like I did.

And that’s what I’ll take with me.

Not just the ache.

But the having loved at all.

If this is goodbye,

let it be honest.

Let it be kind.

Let it ruin me a little,

in the best possible way.

And when you think of me,

if you ever do,

I hope it’s with a smile,

and not regret.

Because I would’ve loved you,

in every version of this life.

And I will miss you,

in every version of the next.

I would have loved you either way,

And I will love you always.