forgetting

You once told me that you were okay with not knowing me anymore in this life.
That even if I died, or if we never spoke again, it would be completely fine for you.

I try to convince myself that maybe you were joking—
but was there some truth in it?
I think so.
Because I feel it too.

If we never talk again, I know it would be alright.
And that’s fine by me.
You go your way, I’ll go mine.

And yet—
there’s this pit in my stomach that still holds hope.
Because what we shared was so good.
I am grateful to have known you.

You were my ground, my safe place, for so long.
Until one day, I didn’t feel safe anymore.
I knew you were hurting me, pushing me away.
Still, I stayed.
I told myself it was only because you wanted to move on,
and because our love was true, I should hold on.

But then I realized—
I can love you from afar too.
I don’t need to get hurt to prove love,
not to you, not to myself.
I don’t need you to feel anything for me
for me to feel love in my heart.

I just need myself.
And my good heart.

That’s why I understand now,
when you say you don’t want to speak to me anymore,
when you say you’ll be okay letting me go.