You refused to say goodbye because you didn't want to be the reason for us to end.

But your synonyms of mocking a goodbye was enough for me to know that you gave up, and you aren't tired of yourself, but you're tired of us.

You told me that the wounds of the past have presented trauma in one word, "goodbye".

I agree that I said it one late night in October, but you said it to me twice more. And better yet, you walked away right after that goodbye. But I stayed. I stayed even though I knew I was worth more than what you're doing.

As if that was the opportunity you were waiting for, to alleviate the guilt of having ended us.

Sometimes letting go isn't an option because once gone, I will not allow you into my life and it is beyond bizarre for you to expect to come back when you feel better to do so, after taking all I had to offer with you.

Sometimes, you just have to work on the relationship with more effort, fighting to fix, falling in love again. To find that spark again. The magic that once existed.

Sometimes, we both have to love each other so deeply, you came back after I chased you again. Because you know that your goodbyes for me is something I will never make peace with. You find comfort in the chase, you find my love in the chase, but I find exhaustion, self questioning in the same chase.

You chose your journey of self love, because "you loved yourself enough to walk away" but the moment I chose to do so, it now became a question of your life and existence, of your worth. Your poignant curses filled with such hatred that you coated to be a way of self expression, but an addition to my anxiety with you.

You say you're too soft for this world but love isn't supposed to be rough if your heart is so soft.