i am not ready to let go—
nor to force myself back in.
i want to prove that i can change,
so you might see that transformation too.
i have learned a few truths about love:
when childhood's love was scarce and hard to find,
every crossing-toes moment feels like slipping sand—
you hold it tight, afraid it'll cease to flow,
and in your grasp, love slips away.
when love arrived in whispers and in storms,
a smile one day, a punch the next—
you brace yourself against its coming,
turn away, and love, discouraged, fades into distance.
we were always trying to change each other—
mistaking comfort for compatibility,
confusing each other with the reality within.
if you change, maybe i'll feel safe.
if i can fix you, i don't have to face my wounds.
if i make you right, maybe nothing in me is wrong.
i feared loss, so i reached for control.
i told myself, i'll love you more when you are who i need.
but love is not a mirror—
it's the space between two truths.
so, what if i let her go—
not as surrender, but as an act of truth?
not to erase the love i held,
but to honor the space where growth must breathe.
not all love is meant to stay—
but some is meant to shape us,
to teach us how to turn with tenderness
to what was, and what still can be.
what is love, if not being held—
even when the sky turns to rain?
