There’s a special kind of grief that comes with releasing someone you once thought would be in your life forever. Not the clean cut of a betrayal, but the slow ache of a connection that just... fades. The texts go unanswered. The inside jokes land flat. You realize you’ve become an archivist of a friendship that no longer exists, clinging to receipts of old love like they’ll magically reanimate what’s gone.
Sometimes the bravest thing you can do is stop keeping score.
We hold on because: We’ve known each other for years. But duration doesn’t equal depth. Because maybe if I try harder but love shouldn’t be a solo effort. Because what if I regret it? What if you regret staying more?
The truth is, not all relationships are meant to last. Some exist to teach you how you deserve to be treated. To show you where your boundaries should’ve been. To make space for what’s coming next.
You’ll know it’s time when you feel lonelier with them than without. When your growth is met with resentment, not celebration. When you’re the only one keeping receipts—remember when you... and the thought of reaching out exhausts you.
So unsend that draft text. Cancel the let’s catch up coffee you dread. Some silences are answers.
Write the unsent letter. Scream in your car. Honor that this hurts even if leaving is right.
You don’t owe anyone endless access to your peace.
Nature abhors a vacuum. What leaves makes room for what fits now.
Some people are seasons. Some are lessons. Very few are lifetimes.
And that’s okay.
May you love what leaves you enough to let it go. May you trust the hollow places to fill with better echoes. And when you meet yourself on the other side of this grief May you recognize how light your hands have become.
The love that’s meant for you won’t make you work this hard.